


To Regret Violets

by clusium_kiss



Series: Violets verse [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Ableist Language, Ace Spectrum, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Asexual Character, Beta/Omega, But the rape and dubious consent are not between the main pairing, Dubious Consent, Forced Pregnancy, Found Family, Harems, Historical Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Platonic Romance, Rape, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, it starts angsty but then skews fluffy in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clusium_kiss/pseuds/clusium_kiss
Summary: After Katlego distinguishes himself on the battlefield, the emperor gifts him with an omega slave from his harem. Katlego is wounded, depressed, and has no use for such a slave. But he finds he cannot abandon him either.
Relationships: Omega harem slave/OMCs, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Wounded general returned from war/The omega harem slave he is gifted
Series: Violets verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187360
Comments: 352
Kudos: 594





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although the rape and dubious consent does not occur between the main pairing, some of it does happen onscreen, so please heed these tags! The mpreg/forced pregnancy is in the past but is referenced. For those here for the smut (I understand; I am often in your shoes), be aware that after the first few chapters that will be ending (and all of it that does occur at the beginning is of the dub con/non con variety). The main relationship will be a platonic romance where one of the characters is asexual. 
> 
> The title is inspired by a haiku by an anonymous author: I regret picking/and not picking/violets  
> It doesn't really have anything to do with the story, but I like the poem, and I hate trying to come up with titles, so.

Katlego knelt on the hard flagstones, head bowed, lame leg cramping with pain, and swallowed the urge to yell at the imperial herald to get the hell on with it so he could move from this uncomfortable position. But of course the man enjoyed drawing out his moment of authority, stretching every consonant and pausing often for dramatic effect.

“In recognition of the commander’s loyal service at the Battle of Dublar, where on the third day, the eastern pride advanced, ten-thousand strong, and…”

By the spirits, he’d _been_ there—was it really necessary to recount every damn detail? He’d hardly have forgotten. It had been a life-altering day for him, after all. He’d led the charge that turned the tide of the battle, but he’d also taken a spear to his leg that left him lame, confined to bed for weeks with a fever, and finally forced him to retire from the army. 

“….the emperor, in his graciousness, has seen fit to reward to the commander with the following gifts…”

Ah, now they were getting to the point of it. 

“….five bolts of brocade cloth and two sacks of salt….”

He’d have new robes made and could sell the rest for a good profit.

“….a golden torque, inlaid with amber…”

A surprisingly sumptuous gift—the general must have praised him more than he’d expected.

“….and an omega slave, formerly of the palace harem.”

Katlego almost forgot himself and raised his head. An omega slave from the palace? And a pleasure slave no less? That seemed too rich a gift for someone of his station, regardless of his deeds. He wasn’t even an alpha, but a beta. 

The herald had fallen silent at last, and Katlego voiced his thanks for the emperor’s generosity, humbling himself and bending his head to the ground. Then at last he could rise, gritting his teeth against the cramp in his leg. The herald was leaving already, the palace servants giving the chests containing the other gifts to Katlego’s own servants, and there, as the servants’ blue robes dispersed, prostrate on the ground, was the omega.

As Katlego took a step closer, scrutinizing him, he began to have an idea of why he’d been given the slave. The omega had dark hair, but Katlego could see a few strands of gray along his temples. When he ordered the omega to raise his head and look at him, a pair of tired dark eyes met his own briefly, and then fell, the omega’s expression meek and submissive. 

Clearly, this was a slave who had been well-used and was no longer fit for entertaining the imperial family or their guests. They’d probably been planning to send him to the kitchens or the fields or sell him off to a brothel, but decided to throw him in as a bonus for Katlego. 

Bending, he reached for the slave’s face, and the omega flinched backward before freezing and holding himself still. Katlego tilted his chin up, until those dark eyes met his own again.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Ayumu, master,” the omega answered. 

“Ayumu,” Katlego repeated. “Come into the house and attend me in my rooms.”

“Yes, master,” Ayumu murmured, his head tipping forward in a bow. 

Ayumu wore silk robes, embroidered with white blossoms and red leaves, and tied with a patterned sash. He moved gracefully, and when they reached Katlego’s rooms, he started to bare his throat and chest. 

“Stop that,” Katlego told him, lowering himself onto his couch and stretching out his leg with a grimace. “I did not ask you to undress.”

“Forgive me, master,” Ayumu said, flushing and dropping to his knees. “I… I assumed—”

“What was your position in the harem?” Katlego asked, cutting short his nervous apologies. 

Ayumu’s flush deepened. “I usually serviced visiting nobility, master, or ministers in the court. Occasionally one of the second-rank princes would make use of me.”

In other words, he’d been passed around to whomever the palace wanted to humor or reward. He had never earned the favor of a patron who would keep his services exclusive, never mind the upper echelons of the court.

“And what are your other uses, outside of the bedroom?”

Ayumu bent closer to the floor. “I can attend to all your personal needs, master, such as bathing and dressing. I am skilled in preparing and serving tea.” A quick glance up, and then he hunched in on himself. “I play the zither as well and—and can paint, a little.”

Music, delicacies—all the entertainments of the idle rich. He knew some military commanders who indulged in such pleasures in their households, keeping delicate slaves to sing and dance, decorating their walls with elaborate scrolls, or hosting lavish banquets with expensive wines and fine foods. But he had never been interested in such things, preferring to keep his time in the capital city brief so he could return to his ancestral estate in the countryside. His idle hours he filled with riding or sword play or reading tactical manuals. Now though, he could no longer do the first two and the third would be pointless. 

“This slave apologizes for his uselessness, master,” Ayumu was saying, evidently taking Katlego’s silence for disapproval, his forehead now pressed to the ground. 

“Did I call you useless?” Katlego demanded, his tone sharp, bitterness swamping him again at the reminder of the change in his fortunes. If anyone was useless in this room, it was him. 

“Of course not, master. I did not presume to—”

“Silence,” Katlego ordered, stopping the fumbling, anxious words short. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. His head was aching, echoing the pulsing pain in his leg. He didn’t have the energy to deal with this now. And he shouldn’t take out his ill temper on a new slave.

“Get up,” he said after a moment, “and go see Yannic, my household steward. Have him get you some food from the kitchens and assign your sleeping quarters.” 

Ayumu bowed his way from the room, sliding the door shut as he left. 

*

Leaning against the wall in the empty corridor, Ayumu pressed a hand to his chest and tried to calm his frantic heartbeat. He had handled that poorly. And he had no excuse for it—over the years, he had learned to charm many a disgruntled palace guest with his body and sweet words. He should have been able to do the same here, no matter how forbidding and stern his new master seemed. 

But it was different now. At the palace, he had enjoyed a measure of security. When he serviced visiting nobility, he represented the emperor’s generosity and hospitality. Degrading him or treating him roughly would have been seen as an insult to the emperor, a rejection of his gift. Now those protections had vanished. His new master could treat him in whatever way he wanted, and no one would say a word against it. 

Already that morning, as he prepared to leave the palace, Ayumu had encountered the humiliating proof of his new status. One of the guards, who had often eyed Ayumu with interest but knew better than to touch him, had cornered him in a passageway, shoving him against the wall. When Ayumu struggled, the guard pinned his wrists in one hand and fondled him with the other, then ordered him to get on his knees. 

Shocked and frightened, Ayumu had obeyed, but then tried to jerk away when the guard uncovered his cock, already erect and leaking. The guard had gripped his hair, tugging painfully. 

“You’re not good enough for the harem anymore,” the guard told him in a calm, reasonable tone, as though he were explaining something to a child. “But you still need cock—an omega whore like you. Be good now and let me fuck your mouth. Unless you want it in your cunt.”

He didn’t know what would happen if he arrived at his new master’s open and wet with another man’s seed, and so he let the guard have his mouth, choking for breath as the guard held his head still and thrust down his throat. Afterwards, he cleaned the spit and tears from his face and straightened his robes and tried to hide his shaking hands from the servants. 

So he had no defenses or protections now. He could only pray that his master was not cruel and that he could please him. But already he was failing at the latter, and from the man’s curt tone and downturned mouth, Ayumu feared the worst.

His new chamber, at least, proved a pleasant surprise. It was not large, but he had it all to himself, and the window looked onto the inner garden. He had been allowed to bring a small chest from the palace that held his meagre belongings—a simpler robe and additional underclothes, some pieces of jewelry given to him as favors over the years, and various things for maintaining his appearance—brushes, his face paints, nail files, and other necessary items. Unpacking took a few moments, and then he changed out of the fine silk robes into his plain one. He made his way to the kitchen, where a thin man with gray hair tied into a knot on top of his head gave him a bowl of soup and some bread and pointed to a corner. Ayumu went to the corner, ate, and then wondered what he was supposed to do now. After a few moments of dithering, he went to find Yannic again, who was tallying the household accounts in his office, and asked.

Yannic appeared to be around the same age as his master, and he wore his dark hair in a military-style braid. Ayumu guessed that he had been in the army too, perhaps served under his master as a lieutenant and had retired along with his former commander. He did not seem a harsh man, but he also didn’t appear to know what to do with Ayumu, and he pressed his mouth into a thin line, vexed.

“His lordship keeps a small household,” Yannic said at last, laying down his pen. “Two women who come in to do the cleaning and laundry, six men-at-arms, his lordship’s personal servant, Dorji, a stable boy, and Eka in the kitchen. He entertains rarely, and his only living family is a distant cousin who lives in another province.”

“I imagine his lordship used to occupy himself with military affairs,” Ayumu ventured, and Yannic nodded.

“Yes. We were often out on campaign or at the forts on the border. It is… strange, to now be here, in a house in the city.” 

“I guessed that you had served with our master in the army.”

“I did—proudly. You could not find a better commander—a better man,” Yannic replied, and his voice choked with emotion. “I am afraid I make a poor steward, but I could not leave my lord. He saved my life many times over.”

It was encouraging that Yannic seemed to love and admire their master deeply. Surely, he could not be too cruel a man if he inspired such loyalty. 

Yannic took a breath and focused on Ayumu, his frown returning. “As for you, I am afraid his lordship has little use for someone of your… talents. But you were a gift from the emperor so cannot, of course, be refused.”

Ayumu swallowed and looked at the floor. He could hear the slight note of disparagement in Yannic’s voice. But he did not understand why he would be of little use to his lordship. Even if his master did little entertaining or did not care for music, he could take Ayumu to his bed. Did his master only desire women? He had found that most men were not overly particular in that regard. “I can attend his lordship in his chambers and the bath,” Ayumu offered. “Dressing, bathing, any—”

“Dorji is quite capable of attending to his lordship,” Yannic interrupted, stern, and Ayumu flinched. “Do you think him one of those soft lords, who needs five servants fluttering around him at all times?”

Ayumu shook his head. “No. No, of course not. I—I know that he was accounted a great commander, a strong fighter.” 

“And he is still strong. You are not to bother the master unless he specifically asks for your presence, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” Ayumu murmured, bowing. 

“I suppose you had better try helping Eka in the kitchen,” Yannic decided at last. 

Eka, upon learning this news, did not look best pleased, particularly when Ayumu admitted that he had little experience cooking beyond brewing tea and serving sweets. 

“Still, I hope you can manage washing dishes and a few simpler tasks with appropriate direction,” he determined. 

“I can,” Ayumu said, lifting his head a little. The hot water and harsh soap would ruin his hands, of course, but if his master had no use for his body, it would not matter. And it was better—anything was better—than being thrown into the streets or sold to a brothel. Besides, he would not mind it at all if his master did not bed him, and when he thought of his own little room, that he had to himself, his heart lightened. Perhaps he would even be able to convince Eka or Yannic to allow him to leave on errands, so that he would not have to sneak his way out of the house instead. 

*

Katlego woke early in the evening from a nap he had not intended to take. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and he stumbled from the bed, cursing. Dorji heard him stirring and arrived moments later with some strong tea and supper, which had been kept hot for him. Katlego felt somewhat more human after eating, enough to remember the events of the afternoon, and he summoned Yannic. 

“What have you done with—I’ve forgotten his name—”

“Ayumu, my lord,” Yannic interjected smoothly.

“Yes. Him.” 

“I have set him to helping Eka in the kitchen.” Yannic paused a moment, his shoulders stiffening. “I assumed you would not want his… services in your bedchamber, my lord, but if I have erred….”

Katlego snorted. “No. You know me well, old friend. I have no interest in bed mates. But I cannot turn him out of the house, either. Did he protest at being set to work in the kitchens?”

“No. He seems quite submissive. But he is used to a soft life. I daresay he will not be of much use wherever we put him.”

Katlego sighed. “Well, we must do what we can to put him at ease. I spoke shortly with him earlier, and he stank of nerves. You will let me know if he causes any trouble to Eka.”

“Yes, my lord. And now, I mind that your leg has been bothering you again. If you would let me send for the doctor—”

“And what good could he do? There is nothing to be done,” Katlego snarled. “It is what it is, and I must live with it.” 

Yannic bowed, silent. 

Guilt stung him, that he had lost his temper yet again and with Yannic, who had followed him into this—this _cage_ of his own free will and only wanted to help. 

“You may bring me some of the tonic and salve,” he allowed. “I will have Dorji massage it.” 

After Yannic left, he went to his window and opened it to the cool spring evening. It must have rained earlier, for the air smelled fresh and humid. Katlego looked out into the dusk, his mind traveling to better times, when he had been hale and whole. The omega slave he had been gifted soon drifted into the back of his thoughts, buried by other cares and the heavy sadness he could not shake. And for many days thereafter, Katlego did not think of him at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I go all out on the "hurt" part of the hurt/comfort. 
> 
> **Please heed the tags!!** This chapter includes rape/extremely dubious consent and mentions of forced pregnancy.

It did not take long for Ayumu’s initial hopes for his new situation to be proved ill-founded. Perhaps, if he had only been stronger or possessed skills beyond pleasing bedmates, it would have gone differently. But he was not and did not. He could only struggle at his new tasks as best he could.

Even a chore as simple as washing the dishes in the kitchen proved unexpectedly arduous. He must build and tend a fire to heat the water and then had to haul the water from the well. Ayumu was unused to physical labor, and so he could not manage to carry a full bucket, necessitating several trips. Keeping the fire going proved a trick as well, and several times it became choked with smoke, to Eka’s ire. Scrubbing the iron pots was not easy either, and Eka often made him scrub them again because Ayumu had not cleaned them to his satisfaction. The rare times Eka allowed him to help with chopping ingredients, Ayumu invariably cut them to the wrong size. By the end of the day, his arms and legs ached, the small cuts on his fingers from when the knife slipped stung after being submerged in the soapy water, and his hands were chafed and reddened.

He knew that none these things were that bad, not really. He knew that with time, he could grow used to the work. But he still felt uncertain and unsure in his new position, in this new place, and the attitudes of the others in the house did nothing to make him feel more at ease. 

For one, he was the only slave, the only one with a brand on his shoulder. The others were all servants, who were free to leave the employ of his lordship if they desired. And it soon became clear that Yannic, Eka, and Dorji all harbored some contempt for him—not only for his low status as a slave but also because they thought of him as a whore. Eka, in particular, seemed to hold rather rigid opinions on morality. He criticized Ayumu’s every mistake, and twice he had made Ayumu kneel so he could whip him for his clumsiness. Over his clothes, the thin stick did not break his skin or bruise too badly, but it was humiliating. 

Ayumu suspected that Yannic was not aware of the extent of Eka’s dislike for him or the whippings, but he could not speak to him about it. Yannic was busy with his tasks as steward, and he and Dorji left no space for him at the table when they ate. They did not talk to him outside of giving orders. Not that they should have—it was true that Ayumu was a slave and thus beneath them. Besides, Yannic and Dorji appeared to be good friends, and Ayumu picked up that Dorji had been his lordship’s manservant for some years, and so they had known each other in the army. They would smile and talk together, and it made Ayumu ache for the companions he had left behind in the harem. 

As for the men-at-arms… he was not sure if they were worse or better. They did not look at him with contempt. No, they looked at him with _interest_. Two of them, in particular, Vergil and Subin, had grown quite bold in their glances, and he dreaded coming upon one of them alone in some secluded corridor. 

If his master had been bedding him, none of them would have dared. But Ayumu had only seen his master from a distance in the days since he had arrived. He said no word to Ayumu—did not even seem aware of his presence. Ayumu could not believe that he had made such a bad impression that first day, but it must be so. He dreaded that word of his poor performance would reach his master. If his master saw that there was no use for him, he would surely be sold. There could be no offense to the emperor if a slave proved worthless. At the worst, the palace might even reach out its long, all-powerful arms and punish him for being a disgrace when he had been meant as a pleasing gift.

And so he did not complain or protest the rough and cold treatment from the others. Besides, after a week and half in the house, he had won Eka’s approval to go out the next day to replenish their stock of dried herbs. If Ayumu was quick enough, he should have time to slip back to the palace for a short visit to see Yukiko. His departure from the palace had happened so quickly that he had barely had a chance to make it to the kitchens to see her before he left. His daughter was only four years old—too young to understand why her papa was leaving the palace. He had promised her that he would still come visit, praying that it was not a lie. 

And so this small measure of freedom was more precious to him than anything. If he were sold to a brothel, there would be no such freedom he knew, and so he must cling to his place in this house, no matter what. 

He was cheering himself with thoughts of tomorrow and Yukiko as he hauled the water bucket up from the well and was not paying much attention to his surroundings. And so, when he turned and practically ran into Vergil, he gasped and almost dropped the bucket. 

Vergil caught the bottom, balancing it, and then reached to take it from Ayumu. “Careful there. Why don’t you let me carry it for you?”

Ayumu did not relinquish his grasp on the handle. “I can manage it.” 

Vergil tugged at it. “Come now, don’t be stubborn. I’ve seen you struggling across the yard with it. Let me help.”

Slowly, Ayumu let go. “Thank you.” He followed Vergil as he took the water in to the kitchen and emptied it in the basin. Eka was not there, and Ayumu started rolling up his sleeves, preparing to start his work, when Vergil caught his wrist in a rough grip. 

“I did you a favor, pretty omega. Perhaps tonight you can return it.” He leaned close, and Ayumu smelled the musk of an alpha, sweat—lust. His mouth went dry, his heart pounding. 

“No,” he said, but his voice was weak.

“No?” Vergil repeated, and his grip tightened. “I know his lordship isn’t fucking you, so there’s no reason for you to refuse.”

“I don’t want to. Please,” Ayumu pleaded, struggling now in Vergil’s grip. 

“You know what else I bet you don’t want? I bet you don’t want me going to Yannic and telling him how you’ve been neglecting your duties. How I saw you napping by the apricot tree. How I saw you stealing some honey and the expensive tea leaves from the stores.”

It wasn’t true. But he couldn’t risk Yannic believing Vergil. Especially not if Yannic ended up taking the matter before his lordship. 

Tears welled, and he lowered his head, submitting. 

“Now, now, don’t cry,” Vergil said, his voice full of false sympathy. “You’ve been too long without a good cock in you. A nice fuck—that’s what a slut needs, isn’t it?” 

Such vulgar words. And maybe he had been nothing more than a pleasure slave in the palace, but he had still been part of the royal harem, and never treated in such a manner. Vergil was probably illiterate, when Ayumu could read fine literature and write poetry and play music. And now here he was, reduced to nothing more than a kitchen drudge at the mercy of men like Vergil. 

But when the knock came at his door that night, he let him in without protest. At least Vergil wanted nothing more than a quick rut—a few cursory touches, the push of his cock and a minute or so of thrusting, and then he spilled inside Ayumu with a groan. Ayumu held still, trying to keep the distaste off his face, lest Vergil notice and slap him for it. But Vergil only pulled out, did up his trousers, and left without a word. 

Ayumu cleaned himself and swallowed down the tears. It was nothing. Only one more in a long line of alphas and betas who had used his body. He had to concentrate on tomorrow—his chance to get out of the house and visit Yukiko. He could not jeopardize that, no matter what happened.

*

“Eka has told you what to buy?” Yannic asked as he counted out coins and put them into a small purse.

“Yes, sir,” Ayumu replied. 

Yannic gave him a long look as he tied the purse strings, and Ayumu did his best to appear meek and obedient, even though his heart was beating quickly.

“There is more than enough here for your purchases, so I expect you to bring some change back with you,” Yannic said at last, handing him the purse. “And do not take all day with it. You will be back by the noon meal.”

Ayumu nodded, tucking the purse carefully into his outer robe. He was dressed modestly, in plain clothing, his hair braided and tucked under a large straw hat that shaded his face.

After one last distrustful look, Yannic dismissed him, and Ayumu hurried out into the street. And then he paused, the strangeness of it suddenly apparent. 

The harem slaves rarely left the palace, and if they did, they always rode in a carriage, accompanied by guards. The last time he had stood on a public street by himself had been as a child, before he was enslaved. 

He took a few tentative steps, and then broke into a fast walk, his shoes clattering on the cobblestones. 

It was a day in early spring—brisk, with a cool wind, but the sun was warm. Buds were appearing on the trees, and green shoots were pushing through the mud in the front yards of people’s homes. Everything was very bright—the painted and carved woodwork on front doors, the gleaming leather on a horse’s harness, the smell of fried bread and meat at an outdoor market, a view of the river and its sparkling water, the little fleet of fishing boats. Ayumu would have liked to linger, to take in all the smells and sounds. But Yarric had said he must return by noon, and it was mid-morning already. His master lived in a respectable neighborhood, but he was only among the minor nobility, and so it was still quite a distance to the palace.

He stopped in the first herb shop he saw and made the necessary purchases, not caring overmuch for quality or price. Doubtless, if he went to several shops, he could obtain a better bargain, and this was what Yannic had intended. But it would take too long to do so. 

Back on the street, the wrapped packages clutched under his arm, a colorful stall caught his eye. It was full of toys for children, including small painted paper balls—flat for storage but easily inflated with a few breaths. They only cost two pennies—surely Yannic would not miss such a small sum? He knew Yukiko would love them. 

It was too much to resist, and so he bought one, heart in his throat, as though Yannic were spying on him from a concealed doorway and would swoop down and beat him there in the street. 

Then, he made for the palace, as quickly as his feet would carry him. 

All entrances to the palace were, of course, guarded. The east gate was where all the servants and deliveries passed in and out, and it was there that Ayumu went. Thankfully, he recognized one of the guards, a young man named Tol, who was friendly and had always been polite and courteous to the harem slaves. Ayumu called out to him, raising his voice to be heard over the squeak of wagon wheels. 

For a moment, he could tell that Tol didn’t recognize him, dressed so plainly and without any of the makeup and hair ornaments he used to wear. But then recognition dawned. 

“Ayumu!” he greeted, smiling. “We did not know if we should see you again.” 

“My new master allowed me out of the house on an errand,” Ayumu explained. “I do not have much time, but would you let me visit the kitchens, so I could see Yukiko?”

Tol squeezed his shoulder. “Of course. You know the way.”

The kitchens were always bustling, full of people and shouts and the scent of wood smoke and food. Rather than try to find Yukiko inside, Ayumu waited in the yard and asked one of the slaves to find Boyana, the older woman who looked after Yukiko, and tell her that he was here.

It felt like an agonizingly long wait, but then he heard his daughter’s voice—“Papa!”—and she came running to him. 

Ayumu went to his knees, holding out his arms, and gathered Yukiko into a hug. Her familiar, dear scent washed over him, and he petted her dark hair, gathered into two messy braids that were in constant danger of coming loose. 

“There you are, little one. I missed you so much,” he murmured.

Yukiko squirmed in his hold, and he reluctantly loosened his arms. “Boyana said you might not ever come back, papa! But I knew you would. You promised.”

“I did,” he agreed, breath hitching in his chest as he looked into her trusting eyes. “And how have you been? Have you been a good girl?”

She nodded and launched into a high-pitched, jumbled recitation of all that had happened in the kitchens since the last time Ayumu saw her. Ayumu listened, glancing up as Boyana appeared and stood smiling at them, her wrinkled hands dusted with flour. 

“…and then Isha took me to see the goats, and there was a big white one, and a little one with brown spots, and another brown one that wanted to eat my coat! But Isha yelled and hit the fence, and it ran away, and—”

“Now, now, you’ll talk his ear off, child,” Boyana interrupted. “Besides, didn’t you want to show your papa what you’ve been practicing?”

Yukiko gasped and nodded. She crouched down and used her finger to trace three letters in the dirt. Ayumu had taught them to her. He had been planning to teach her all her letters, to teach her how to read and write, but now— Few of the slaves in the palace kitchens were literate. There would be no one to take over the lessons in his stead. 

“See, papa? I remembered!” Yukiko said, tugging on his robe. 

“That’s wonderful, little one,” Ayumu praised, forcing his thoughts away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper ball. “I brought you a present for being such a good girl. See, you blow it up like this, and then you can play with it.”

The ball was painted with colorful butterflies and flowers, and Yukiko accepted it carefully, her eyes wide. 

“Mind your manners, Yukiko,” Boyana prompted.

“Thank you, papa!” Yukiko smiled, eyes shining, attention now entirely devoted to her pretty new toy. She batted it into the air and chased after it. 

Ayumu stood, brushing off his robe, and exchanged a smile with Boyana. But then Boyana’s expression grew more somber. 

“Well?” she prompted. “I was not sure we would see you again, Ayumu.”

“I should be able to get out of my new master’s house occasionally to run errands,” he said. “And I will try my best to visit her. But I… I do not think I will be able to ask my master to buy her. He… does not favor me.”

Boyana simply nodded and did not press him for details. They watched Yukiko playing with her ball for a few minutes in silence, and then Boyana said, “She is growing fast. Soon, she will be able to work, and they will decide what to do with her.”

Ayumu dug his nails into the palms of his hands, chest tight. He knew. Yukiko was a slave, and she belonged to the palace, the emperor. Ayumu had been given no choice in her conception or birth, and he would have no say over her life now either. 

“Perhaps she will be lucky, and they will give her to one of the princesses or another noble woman to be trained as a maid,” Boyana continued.

He forced himself to nod, to agree. Because it would be better than many of the alternatives. All he could hope was that whatever happened, he would still be able to see her from time to time. 

It was hard to say goodbye, not knowing when he would be able to get away from the house again. Yukiko cried and clung to him, and finally Boyana had to pull her away and hold her so she didn’t run after him. It hurt more than any of the indignities he had been subjected to. 

Although he walked quickly and finally broke into a run, he still arrived back after the noon bell. Yannic frowned and scolded him for dawdling and also for spending too much coin on the herbs. Eka, who was also annoyed that Ayumu had not been there to help serve the noon meal, made him kneel and whipped him as punishment. 

It hurt, and Ayumu’s heart hurt. The pain of being separated from Yukiko was an ever-present, dull ache that always grew sharper whenever he got to see her. He struggled through his chores that afternoon, wishing he could find a quiet, private corner where he could cry. 

And then Subin, the guard who had often leered at him along with Vergil, cornered him in the pantry. 

“Vergil told me you spread your legs for him last night,” Subin said. “Told me how wet your cunt was. Said he thought you’d let me have a taste too.”

There was no point in fighting it, was there? Ayumu swallowed, trembling a little, but didn’t resist when Subin guided him to a pile of crates against the wall and pressed against his shoulders, making him bend down. Then it was only the misery of having his robes rucked up and his pants tugged down, of a thick finger stroking him and testing his cunt for slick. He gripped the crate, resting his cheek on the wood and breathing through the ache of Subin’s cock penetrating him. 

When it was over, he stayed in the cool darkness of the pantry for a few minutes longer, gathering himself. He forced his mind to concentrate on the memory of the bright river that morning, of Yukiko’s scent and her smile, of the good things that day, regardless of how few or bittersweet they were.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific tags: Rape/sexual assault, mentions of forced pregnancy, discussion of using an abortifacient
> 
> More hurt this chapter, but also some beginnings of the comfort part of the equation.

_Dearest Friend,_

_My thoughts turned your way today. So they often do, but today the batch of spring recruits arrived, fresh from the city. As they stumbled around the encampment—by turns nervous, excited, and brash—I could not help but wish that you were here with me to mold and shape them into worthy soldiers. You were always the best of us at this task. I fear I am too harsh with them and know not how to soften my words or discern when it is best to forgive and when some punishment must be in order._

_Ah, but I will not bore you with these private anxieties. I imagine you are likely glad to be free of the training grounds this year. I picture you idling in a warm spring breeze in your garden, while here snow yet clings to the shady forests and the nights still snap with cold. You always did detest how the spring thaw turned the ground to mud. How many hours did you make poor Dorji spend cleaning your boots and your cloak, only to get them all over mud again the moment you stepped outside?_

_In your next letter, you must tell me how Dorji fares, and Yannic too. All that I learned in your last missive was that you have installed Yannic as your steward. Was that a jest or truth? As I recall, Yannic had no head for numbers and yet you grant him a position where he must keep accounts and run the household? Indeed, you push your men hard, as always. And yet, I am sure that you chose him because you trust him above all others and sought to reward him for following you into retirement. And that he finds no fault in your actions, so great is his esteem for you._

_At any rate, your next letter must be more than the poor half page you scrawled last time. I do not believe for one minute that you have ‘no news to tell.’ You are in the capital, Katlego, surrounded by gossip and intrigue! I fear that you have shut yourself up in your house and are tormenting yourself with gloomy thoughts and ill moods. And I worry about your leg and that it pains you more than you say._

_So write to me, damn you! Else I will ride down there to sound you out myself and make_ you _explain to the emperor why one of his captains left the border unguarded._

_With much irritated affection,_

_Macarius_

Katlego sighed and laid Mac’s letter aside on his desk. His friend was too perceptive, as always. He would have to summon the will to write a proper letter and make it as cheerful as possible, or Mac really _would_ come charging down to chivvy him into compliance.

And there were the damn tears again, stinging his eyes. But oh, he could picture the scene, just as Mac described it. He could smell the wet earth and that cold wind that yet carried a hint of new, green grass. Spring had always been so busy—the enforced idleness of winter ended, the rush of new recruits who had to be trained, sending out scouts, and repairing any damage to the forts from the winter storms. 

And now this year—this year he was here, trapped in a city, in a house, in a crippled body. Never again would he ride onto the plains with Mac, never again share a hot drink in his tent at night, never again plan their campaigns, bent over the maps and arguing over the best routes and strategies. 

“Tormenting yourself with gloomy thoughts”—that’s what Mac had said, and it was true. He knew it wasn’t healthy, that he should pull himself together, put the past behind him and move forward. But move forward to what? He didn’t know and couldn’t muster the energy to overcome the pain and heartache to find out.

Gritting his teeth, he stood and hobbled to the window. It was a lovely day—the leaves were coming out on the apricot tree, and the blooming cherry trees on the public street were visible over the wall of the courtyard. But it did nothing to lift his spirits. Yesterday he had tried to mount his horse, refusing to ride in the damn carriage again like an invalid, and had failed. He would have fallen to the ground if Dorji and Yannic hadn’t caught him. He was paying for it now, sharp spikes of agony shooting through his knee and thigh every time he moved. 

A knock on the door, and then Yannic entered. “The doctor is here, my lord,” he said.

Katlego frowned. “I did not call for the doctor.”

“Nevertheless, the doctor is here, and you will see him,” Yannic returned, implacable. “My lord,” he added after a moment.

Annoyance flared, but then, strangely, relief. Or perhaps not so strange. For if he couldn’t have the plains and battle and Mac, at least Yannic was still here at his side, as stubborn as ever, refusing to give an inch if he thought that Katlego was being a petulant fool. He’d felt the same relief when he woke in the hospital to find Yannic sitting at his bedside, although it had been tinged with guilt at the knowledge that he’d taken Yannic away from the life he’d loved too. 

_You do not have to stay,_ he had said, limbs weak and trembling as Yannic helped him to sit and drink some broth. 

_I am staying_ , Yannic had said. _Dorji is here as well. We are sworn to you, my lord and will not leave._

And Yannic had not mentioned the grateful tears that slipped in wet trails down Katlego’s face. 

“Very well,” he said now, returning to his chair. He bore the probing fingers of the doctor as well as he might. 

“You must not strain the leg,” the doctor told him, stern. “With rest it will improve some, but not if you overtax the muscles. That means you must not try riding—not for many months yet, if ever.”

“I am sure his lordship will be more careful in future,” Yannic put in, and Katlego knew he’d be lucky to get within ten feet of a horse the next time he ventured outside. 

He drank the tonic the doctor gave him, and Yannic collected the empty bowl. “Shall I have Dorji set up a chair in the courtyard, my lord?” he asked. “The sunshine is quite pleasant.”

But Katlego could not—he could not go sit in the sun with a blanket round his shoulders and pretend to be pleased at the spring weather, trying to distract himself with a game of cards or some other pointless amusement. “No—have Dorji attend me. I wish to retire to bed.”

“My lord, some fresh air—”

“I am _tired_ , Yannic. Please.”

And Yannic bowed, unhappy but obeying for once. Perhaps he could hear how close Katlego was to shattering apart, a glass dropped on the tile floor.

*

“What is it?” Yannic snapped, pen poised over his ledger.

Ayumu flinched. He’d picked a bad time—Yannic was in an ill mood for some reason—but he could not wait. Already, he had almost put it off too long.

“I need a… a prescription, sir,” he said, bowing his head and clasping his hands in front of him.

“You are ill?”

“Not… entirely. My heat is coming, and I… I need a contraceptive.” 

“A _contraceptive_?” Yannic repeated, and Ayumu flushed, nodding wretchedly.

Yannic snorted. “Whatever for? Our master does not bed you. Such prescriptions are expensive.”

He could not tell him the reason. Vergil and Subin would deny it or claim he had enticed them, and then the matter would be taken to his master, who would punish him. He dropped to his knees. “Please. I must have it,” he begged.

Yannic was unmoved, surveying him with impatience—a hint of disgust. “I suppose you have never had to learn restraint. But you belong to this house now. A modicum of control is expected. Do you think to bring shame upon our master by spreading your legs for any alpha that will have you?”

“No, no! But—”

“Of course you will not need to maintain your regular duties. You will confine yourself to your room for your heat, Ayumu. I will see that food and water are provided for you.”

It was no use. He could only pray that Vergil and Subin let him alone. If they didn’t—if he got pregnant—

Just the thought made his breath tight in his chest. He managed to stumble from the room and then sagged against the wall in the corridor. A memory returned then, fevered and disordered, of sprawling on silken sheets, weak, thighs damp with slick, of the blurry face of the alpha above him, who made him beg, who took him over and over. _Don’t you want to thank me for breeding you so well, pretty one?_

Not again. He didn’t want that again. 

If only he could make his cycle stop, but his body moved to its biological urges, regardless of his growing panic. The very next day his stomach began cramping, he grew hot even in a cold room, and a headache pounded behind his temples. At last he had to admit defeat, tell Eka that he would be unwell for several days, and crawl into his bed. He curled on one side, his eyes on the door. It did not lock. He could not stop them if they came inside. 

In his hand he held a smooth pebble that Yukiko had found and given to him one day. He rubbed his thumb on it, over and over. Often he had done so on quiet afternoons in these last two years, knowing that he was growing older, that it was only a matter of time before he was removed from the harem. Knowing that he would have no choice in his fate but unable to stop thinking about what would happen. 

Several hours passed. Evening came. He dozed fitfully. The heat built, and he kicked off the blanket, lay there in his linen shift, panting. Finally he slipped his fingers inside himself, stroking, biting his lip as he orgasmed. He turned onto his stomach, rubbed his face on the pillow, his small cock on the sheets.

And then—the door. Wood sliding, the overwhelming scent of alphas flooding the room, footsteps drawing close as he blinked, frantic, pushing himself into the corner where the mattress met the wall. 

It was dark, but he knew who they were, even before they spoke. 

“Looks like you got started without us,” Vergil said, mocking. 

“Smells wet,” Subin added, and he reached out, laughed when Ayumu slapped his hand away. “Feisty.”

“Please don’t,” Ayumu gasped. “Please. I can’t get pregnant. The master—he’ll—”

But they didn’t listen, just grabbed for him, easily overpowered him as he kicked and tried to bite. And when he lost his head and tried to shout, Vergil slapped a hand over his mouth, and Subin found a cloth to gag him with. Then they took a sash from his robe and bound his hands behind him.

“We better not fuck him here, though,” Vergil decided. “Dorji is only a few doors down. He might hear. Let’s take him to the cellar—we can have him all night there if we want.” 

Ayumu tried to struggle, but they easily bested him in strength, and their scents overwhelmed his mind. His instincts responded, and his body prepared to be bred, his tender breasts chafing against his shift, his cunt pulsing and wet between his legs, a mockery of pleasure.

*

Katlego sighed, shifting in his bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. He had spent much of the afternoon napping again and consequently was not tired now. His leg throbbed dully, the pain never quite subsiding enough to disappear entirely from his consciousness. 

Blowing out an irritated breath, he threw off the blanket and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling for his slippers. He would go down to the kitchen—perhaps there were some sweet chestnut buns left. 

He didn’t light a candle, as the moon was bright and he knew the way well, although these past few months had been the longest time he’d spent in the house since he was a child. It had belonged to his grandmother, and he used to come visit her in the winter each year. After her death he had not returned often, but his mind had held onto the memories of the house and had dredged them up to the surface when required.

In the kitchen, the banked coals in the fire glowed, but all seemed quiet. He began rooting about among the jars and pots, but then paused when a muffled noise caught his attention. Immediately, senses that he had not needed since the day he was wounded flared to life, sights and scents sharpening as he listened, intent. 

Another noise—coming from the cellar. It could be a rat, but he would check on it. On patrol in the woods at night, ignoring a suspicious sound could mean death, and such habits were hard to break.

His leg did not appreciate the stairs—he could only move stiffly and slowly, clinging to the wall. But he had not gone far before he caught the flickering light of a candle or lamp coming from the cellar. And there was a scent—one he remembered from the row of huts where prostitutes gathered that was always clustered outside any fort. 

His nose wrinkled. Were some of the servants fucking? He almost turned around, not wishing to expose himself or them to any awkwardness. But… old habits. 

He had to go more slowly to ensure his movements were silent, and he had to pay strict attention to where he placed his feet on the stairs in the darkness. Consequently, it was not until he had reached the bottom stair that he could pause and look up to see what was happening.

The cellar was cluttered—old tools, some broken furniture, coal and wood for the fires. A few salted meats hung from the ceiling, and Katlego recognized the crates that held his grandmother’s complete set of porcelain dishes, packed in straw and removed only for significant occasions. A stack of crates had been dragged away from the others, and there were three people clustered around them. 

A lamp had been set out, but the light was poor, and it took him a moment to realize what was happening. 

The slave—Ayumu—was bent over the crates on his stomach, and his hands were bound behind his back. One of the guards—Katlego vaguely recognized him as having accompanied his carriage on trips into the city—was gripping Ayumu’s hips and thrusting into him. He could hear the lewd, slick sounds of their coupling. Another guard had a hand fisted in Ayumu’s hair and was rubbing his erect cock on the slave’s cheek, smearing wet trails of precome on his skin. 

And Ayumu… he was limp, unresisting, but Katlego could see the shine of tears on his face in the lamplight. 

Horror froze him for a few moments. And then his voice returned. “Stop!” he cried, stumbling down the last step. “Stop this at once!” 

The guards pulled away hastily from Ayumu, straightening their clothes, their faces pale and uneasy. Ayumu didn’t move, just made a small, choked noise through the gag in his mouth. 

One of the guards licked his lips and then started to speak, “My lord, the omega’s in heat. We didn’t—”

Katlego held up a hand, cutting him off. “Go to your quarters. I will speak with you later,” he ordered. Now was not the time to… well, to do whatever he was going to do to them. Not with the slave bound and in pain. Besides, he couldn’t risk this developing into a confrontation. He wouldn’t be able to subdue the two of them with no weapon and perhaps not even then, a bitter admission but the truth.

The guards shuffled past him, heads bowed. 

“Wake Yannic and send him to me,” Katlego added, although he wasn’t sure they would obey—wasn’t sure they would still be in this house by morning. 

Their footsteps receded up the stairs, and Katlego limped toward Ayumu. As he drew closer, he could smell his heat—a rich, honeyed scent soured by the stink of fear. Ayumu’s eyes were open, but glassy and dazed, his face flushed, hair damp with sweat. Katlego untied the gag and eased it out of his mouth. Ayumu coughed but didn’t speak, just lay there, staring, unseeing. 

“You’re all right now,” Katlego said softly. “They’re gone.” 

He went to untie Ayumu’s hands as well, but the linen sash was knotted tight—impossible to get free without cutting it, and he had no knife. 

“I can’t free your hands just yet, but can you stand? Let’s try to stand.” He put his arm round Ayumu’s shoulders, half-expecting him to flinch away, but he didn’t, although he could hear Ayumu’s breathing speed up into harsh pants. He tugged, putting as much strength into it as he could, his bad leg shaking. 

Ayumu straightened with a groan, got onto his feet, and then swayed into Katlego, who grabbed him and tried to hold him up, but his leg gave out, and a second later they were both in a heap on the floor. 

Katlego expelled a hard breath and had to wait a moment for the spike of pain to pass before he could sit up. He managed to lean against the crates and get Ayumu half into his lap, holding him against his chest. “We’ll just sit here a moment and then try again,” he said. Although if Yannic didn’t appear soon, he might have to leave Ayumu and go get him himself. If simply trying to stand with Ayumu was this hard, the stairs would be impossible. 

Ayumu blinked, eyes focusing blearily on Katlego. He struggled against his bound hands, whimpering. “Master, please, _please_ ,” he gasped. “I didn’t—I—”

“Hush now, you’re all right. It’s all right,” he soothed, although it wasn’t, of course it wasn’t.

Ayumu sobbed, tears spilling down his face, and he struggled again, flailing until he had managed to turn further into Katlego’s chest, pressing his face there. “Master, _master_ ,” he begged.

He had never been with an omega in heat, and although in the course of war he had come across omegas and women who had been raped it had never been his job to comfort and care for them. He had no idea what to say or do. And the knowledge that this wasn’t the battlefield, that this had happened in _his_ house, to someone who was his responsibility—guilt and anger joined with his anxiousness, his uncertainty. He could only hold Ayumu and murmur useless platitudes. 

Then—blessedly—footsteps hurrying down the stairs, and Yannic appeared, a lamp in his hand. “My lord!” he exclaimed upon catching sight of them. “What happened? Subin only said there was trouble with the slave.” He rushed over and knelt down, taking in Ayumu’s appearance. 

“They were raping him,” Katlego said, and his voice shook. “I only came across them by chance. I can’t untie his hands or hold him up, not with this damn leg. I don’t know if he’s badly hurt or if it’s his heat that’s making him so disoriented.”

“We need to get him back to his room.” Yannic set aside the lamp. “I should be able to carry him. Can you... ?”

“Yes, I can manage to walk,” Katlego snapped.

When Yannic touched him, though, Ayumu began struggling again. “Please, master, _no_. No more, please, please.”

“It’s all right. It’s only Yannic. He won’t hurt you, I swear.” He tilted Ayumu’s head, meeting his terrified eyes. “We’re going to take you to your room. That’s all. I promise.”

He wasn’t sure if Ayumu understood him or not, but he didn’t resist this time when Yannic lifted him. Katlego struggled to his feet, took the lamp, and followed them as quickly as he could. 

By the time he reached Ayumu’s room, Yannic had gotten him onto the bed and was cutting through the bonds. When they released, Ayumu groaned, wincing as he moved his stiff muscles. He curled into himself, shaking. 

Katlego was breathing harder than the short trip warranted, and he had to put out a hand and clutch the back of a wicker chair that stood near the door. Yannic had backed up a few steps from the bed and now turned to Katlego, waiting for instructions, looking as much at a loss as Katlego felt.

With the immediate crisis passed, Katlego… well, he had no idea what to do. He felt absurdly afraid of the pitiful figure on the bed. 

“Go get the doctor,” he finally told Yannic, who bowed and hurried out. 

Katlego eased himself into the chair, stretching out his leg. He could smell it again—Ayumu’s heat and the stench of pain and fear. The arm of the chair creaked under his grip, and he stared at the window, at the faint moonlight coming through the thin screen. 

A soft cry from the bed drew his attention unwillingly back again. Ayumu was twisting about, and his eyes were open, but still glazed and disoriented. His dark hair had come free of its braid, and it spilled around him, sticking to his sweaty neck. 

“We’re getting the doctor,” Katlego said, and then found he couldn’t just sit there, and so he hobbled closer. He had the thought to wet a cloth in the basin and did so, then held it out, but Ayumu ignored it, his eyes gradually fixing on Katlego’s face instead. 

“Master,” he whispered. “This—this unworthy slave begs your forgiveness.”

Katlego’s heart clenched. “You have nothing to forgive. Here—will you let me put this cool cloth on your forehead? It might help. The doctor will be here soon.”

But a spasm of pain crossed Ayumu’s face, and he shut his eyes, turning his face into the pillow with a sob. 

Once again, Yannic saved Katlego by arriving at that juncture with the doctor, who immediately took matters in hand. 

“I’ve brought a tincture that should calm him,” the doctor said, opening his case and taking out a small paper packet that held a powdered medicine. He began measuring it into a glass. “Once it has taken effect, I will need to check him for any injuries.” 

“Are omegas’ heats always this severe?” Katlego blurted, and then blushed to sound so ignorant.

“No, if he had been tended to gently or even left alone, there would be only some mild discomfort. But forced intercourse and aggression from an alpha can unbalance the delicate energies of an omega’s cycle and make them delirious. He’ll need complete rest and quiet to recover.” The doctor glanced at him. “Any additional sexual activities would be… unwise, my lord.”

Was the doctor suggesting that _he_ would want to…? 

“Such a warning is unnecessary,” he snapped, flushing again and wishing he was dressed in something more substantial than his light robe. In addition to his general aversion to sex, the thought that any master would force themselves on a slave in such a condition was abhorrent. 

The doctor bowed, murmuring an apology, and then approached Ayumu. But Ayumu recoiled, shaking his head and begging Katlego not to make him, promising that he would be good. 

“It’s only the doctor,” Katlego tried to explain, but Ayumu was curled in a terrified ball again, sobbing. 

“It would help if you came here and held him,” the doctor said to Katlego. “He recognizes you as his master and will obey.” 

And so, sick at heart, Katlego sat on the bed and forcibly pulled Ayumu into a sitting position. Ayumu’s body was hot and sweaty, and he could feel Ayumu’s inner struggle as he tried to make stiff, unwilling muscles pliant for his master’s commands. Katlego held the medicine to his mouth, and Ayumu drank it, obedient, even as tears tracked down his face. Some medicine spilled down his chin, and Katlego wiped it away with the sleeve of his robe. 

A few uncomfortable minutes passed as they waited for the medicine to take effect. The doctor was busying himself with things in his case. Katlego had tried to rise and move away once Ayumu finished the medicine, but Ayumu had fisted a hand in his robe and seemed reluctant to let go, even though his head was down and he would not stop shaking. Katlego put a tentative hand on his shoulder, rubbing slow, soothing circles. 

“Yannic,” he said quietly, “go and see if those two guards are in their quarters. If so, lock them in so they can’t leave. If not, alert the city watch to be on the lookout.” 

“Yes, my lord.” Yannic hesitated. “He… the slave—he came to me yesterday, asking to be allowed to buy a contraceptive.”

 _Fuck_. “How long has this been going on then?” Katlego asked. He couldn’t help the anger from bleeding into his voice, and Ayumu whimpered, sensing it.

Yannic stood straight, his face blank. “I don’t know, my lord. I… I assumed he was being… wanton, and I… I denied it to him.”

Katlego shut his eyes and took a breath. “Later. We will speak of all this later, Yannic.”

Yannic hesitated, and then bowed in acquiescence and left.

“That raises a point, my lord,” the doctor said in a neutral tone. “It is possible your omega was impregnated. If you wish, I can administer an abortifacient.” 

Katlego swallowed against the nausea, the guilt, his hand tightening reflexively on Ayumu’s shoulder. As the medicine took effect, Ayumu had been listing into him as he relaxed, but he flinched at the sudden pressure. 

“You’re all right,” Katlego murmured, and he put his arm around Ayumu. Ayumu sighed and let his head fall onto Katelgo’s shoulder. He was still trembling, but not as badly.

“If we wait until tomorrow—until he’s more lucid and can decide what he wants to do—will that be a problem?” Katlego asked the doctor.

“No, my lord. A pregnancy would need to be much more advanced before there could be ill effects on the omega.” 

“Then we’ll wait.”

“Very good, my lord. He seems to have calmed now. I will need to remove his clothing to check for injuries, and it would be best if you help so that he can smell you and hear your voice.”

Katlego feared Ayumu would struggle, but he didn’t. He was compliant, obedient as they undressed him, his hazy eyes tracking Katlego as best they could. Katlego felt he couldn’t look away, that he had to face the results of his negligence—the redness on Ayumu’s hips that would darken into bruises, the abrasions on his wrists from being bound, and some older bruising on his back that looked like it came from a switch or a cane. Katlego didn’t understand why the guards would have beat him, and then had the horrible, cold thought that perhaps _Yannic_ had. 

The doctor applied salve and washed the slick and other fluids from Ayumu’s thighs. “There are no signs of internal tearing,” the doctor said. “The salve will help heal the bruising more quickly. I would recommend that he eat beef or chicken broth, with plenty of salt, and rice—no spices—while his heat lasts.”

“How long—” Katlego began and then jumped, for Ayumu had put a hand on his thigh and was sliding it toward his groin. Ayumu was still naked and splayed on the bed, his expression drowsy and confused, but determined. Did he think that this had been… preparation? That Katlego intended to use him? Was that truly the only reason he could comprehend for being cared for?

Katlego caught his wrist and gently removed Ayumu’s hand. “No need for that. Come, let’s get you under the blanket. Try and sleep for a while.”

And of course Ayumu obeyed.

Katlego had commanded men, of course. He had ordered some of them to their deaths in battle. He had expected loyalty and obedience from his soldiers. And in turn, he had looked after their needs, had done his best to administer his troops in a fair and just manner. 

If Ayumu had been a new recruit—Katlego would have been looking out for him, would have noticed any signs of distress, would have found out what the problem was. 

But he had been so consumed in his own misery, and he hadn’t cared—that was the hard truth—he hadn’t cared about an omega slave that he hadn’t wanted in the first place. He had dismissed Ayumu from his mind and never given a thought to inquire into his well-being. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, smoothing Ayumu’s tangled hair back from his forehead. 

Ayumu made a sleepy, questioning noise, but couldn’t force his heavy eyelids open, and a few moments later had fallen asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific tags: discussions of potential pregnancy and taking an abortifacient

Katlego sat on the porch, holding a hot cup of coffee and watching a jay bird strut around the courtyard, looking for food. The morning sun gleamed in the black feathers on its head, and Katlego appreciated the warmth of the sun as well. He turned to face it, shutting his eyes.

After Ayumu had finally fallen asleep, he had gone to find out what had become of the two guards. Yannic reported that the one named Subin had indeed fled, but the other—Vergil—had remained and was currently confined to his quarters. Katlego got dressed, choosing some of his most formal and somber robes, and went to his study, then told Yannic to bring Vergil there. 

The results of that interview…. Katlego grimaced and took a sip of the coffee, bitter and dark as he preferred it. 

Vergil had bowed deeply and apologized for offending Katlego. He had not realized, he said, that Katlego had an interest in the slave or he never would have touched Ayumu. But surely he could be forgiven that mistake. After all, he couldn’t smell Katlego’s scent on the slave, and the slave had been working as a drudge in the kitchen. When Katlego said that he did not see how any of that would lead Vergil to the conclusion that it was all right for him to assault Ayumu, the man had blinked, confused. But the slave was an omega, Vergil said in a puzzled tone. An omega that had been in the palace harem. It would be a shame to let that go to waste. Besides, the slave had always been very compliant. Yes, perhaps he had protested at first, Vergil admitted when Katlego pressed him, but he soon spread his legs obediently.

“And last night? With the gag? Tying his hands behind his back? How do you explain that?” Katlego demanded.

“He were in heat, my lord. All feverish and delirious—wouldn’t be quiet or calm down, least not until he got a cock in him, if you’ll pardon my vulgar language, my lord.” 

“You raped him. You _hurt_ him. Like a brute beast,” Katlego said, disgusted.

But his words had no effect. To the guard, Ayumu was nothing more than an omega slave while he was a citizen and an alpha and therefore had every right to Ayumu’s body. 

A headache pounded dully in Katlego’s temples as he thought of the entitlement in the guard’s voice. He could not help think, too, of when he was a commander and the way he used to allow the soldiers out into the settlements around the fort to enjoy a few free hours every month and spend their coin on wine and gambling and, yes, omegas and women. How often had scenes just like the one he witnessed last night happened? 

In the end, he had done the only thing he could do with the guard. Dismissed him from his house and employ and sent him to the city watch on charges of damaging Katlego’s property, for which he would get twenty lashes. Because there was no law against raping an omega slave. 

Footsteps sounded, and Katlego squinted against the sun to see Yannic approaching, the coffee pot in his hand. The jay bird took flight, landing briefly on the top of the courtyard wall before flitting away. 

Katlego held out his cup for a refill. “Ayumu?” he asked, as Yannic poured.

“Still asleep when last I checked.” 

“He had bruising all over his back. Like he’d been beaten,” Katlego said abruptly. 

“That was probably Eka, my lord,” Yannic said, and Katlego bit back a sigh of relief, that at least he had not misjudged Yannic’s character. 

“I know that Eka was displeased with the slave’s performance,” Yannic continued. “He said that he was clumsy and lazy.”

“And what did you do to address it?” 

Yannic stiffened his shoulders. “I… I did nothing, my lord.”

Katlego took a deep breath, thinking of what Mac had said in his letter. “I do not expect you to be a perfect steward, Yannic. After all, you commanded a squad of light cavalry, and I can’t imagine that exactly prepares one for running a lord’s household. You must know that I appreciate you staying with me—truly. I don’t know what I should do if I were all alone in this. But Yannic, you—no, _we_ must do better. These sorts of things cannot happen again.”

Yannic bowed. He had always had an impassive face that rarely showed much expression, but Katlego could read the guilt and shame there. “I did not know he was being treated so badly,” Yannic said in a low tone. “But I did not try to find out, either. I thought poorly of him, because he is a slave and is soft and delicate.” 

“Not all that delicate,” Katlego pointed out because Ayumu had been withstanding that abuse for days without collapsing.

He drank the rest of his coffee and handed Yannic the empty cup. “I’m going to go sit with him until he wakes.”

*

Ayumu was still sleeping when Katlego entered the room and sat quietly in the chair by the bedside. It gave him an opportunity to study the omega unobserved. He remembered thinking when Ayumu arrived that he was several years older than Katlego, and with his hair disheveled, Katlego could see more gray strands in it. He looked thinner, from the worry and strain. One of his hands lay loosely on top of the blanket, and Katlego could tell that his fingers were chafed from the unaccustomed work. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and at the sound, Ayumu stirred. He came awake slowly and didn’t notice Katlego at first. His brow furrowed, confused, no doubt trying to piece together the events of the night. His hand strayed to touch his neck, his shoulder, and then he shuddered and curled into himself, pulling the blanket close around him.

“Ayumu,” Katlego said softly.

Ayumu gasped and looked at him, eyes wide and startled. “Master!” he exclaimed and started struggling to get up.

Katlego stayed him with an outstretched hand. “No need to rise. You must rest after… after what’s happened.” 

Ayumu subsided, although his body remained tense, ready to respond to any forthcoming order. And then full realization hit, and he rose up again on one elbow. “Master, I—I must beg your forgiveness. I tried to stop them. If I had known that you wanted me in my heat, I would have gone to you. I did not meant to—to deprive you of your rights.” His voice shook, the words tumbling out breathlessly, full of fear. 

Katlego’s throat went tight. “I… I did not _want_ you, as you say,” he said with some difficulty. 

Fear ebbed, replaced by confusion and then shame. “Then. Then let me assure you, it is not too late, master. I know of several tinctures that will get rid of any… any consequences of being taken in my heat.”

Katlego squeezed the arms of the chair, knowing that he deserved this—this proof that Ayumu thought he would care only about his rights to his slave’s body or the possibility of another mouth to feed. “Ayumu, I—” He paused, trying to think of the best way to say this, his cheeks heating with the awkwardness of the topic. “I will leave the decision up to you. If you are pregnant and want the… the baby, then that is all right. But if you don’t—”

“I don’t!” Ayumu burst out, his thin frame locking in place, rigid. “Please, master, I don’t.”

“The doctor left a medicine, then, that you should take,” Katlego said, reaching for where the little packet lay on the table. “I’ll mix it into some water.”

“The doctor?” Ayumu questioned in a small voice. 

“Of course the doctor. You were hurt and distressed.”

Ayumu did not seem to know how to respond to this and plucked at the blanket with nervous fingers until Katlego handed him the cup of medicine. He drank it, and Katlego took the cup back, setting it aside. Silence fell. Ayumu sat hunched over, head bowed, one hand clutching his robe closed.

“They’re gone,” Katlego said at last. He cleared his throat. “The guards who hurt you. The one ran off, but Vergil will be getting twenty lashes from the city watch.”

Ayumu nodded. “Yes, master,” he whispered. He did not sound any more at ease. 

Katlego cleared his throat again. “I… I apologize for the… the way you have been treated in my house.”

Ayumu stilled and then dropped his head down even more. If he had been on his knees, he’d have been stretched onto the floor by now. “Please, master. It is my fault for not—for not pleasing you, as I should have. I am a—a burden, I know. But I would beg you to please, please keep me. To not sell me. I will learn to do better. And you may use me in whatever way you wish, master. In whatever way.”

Katlego had never felt more wretched, more wrong-footed. How could he explain so that Ayumu would understand? 

“It is not that you do not please me,” he began at last, haltingly. “But I am not… I do not have any desire to engage in sexual relations. With anyone. And so I… I did not know what to do with you, when you were given to me. And I neglected you, and you were hurt. I am sorry for that. I will not let it happen again.”

There was a long pause. “Sexual gratification was not my only purpose in the harem, master,” Ayumu said at last. He spoke hesitantly, as though choosing each word with care. “I would recite poems and play the zither. I can read as well—novels and philosophical works.”

Katlego nodded. “I remember you saying that when you arrived.”

“I bring it up only to suggest—if it would please my master—that I might keep you company in such a manner. It is not the same as the physical pursuits, the thrill of battle, that occupied you before, I know. But if you grow bored, here in the city, perhaps this slave might make your days less tiresome.”

An offer of company—not in bed but outside it. He swallowed, putting his hand on his bad leg. Perhaps… perhaps it would not be so terrible, to try to find pleasure in new things. “I should like that,” he said aloud.

“I… I should be of more use to you in that way than in the kitchen, master,” Ayumu said, glancing up at Katlego and then dropping his eyes again.

Katlego sighed. “You do not have to work in the kitchen anymore.”

“My master is very kind, very gracious,” Ayumu murmured, his voice trembling. 

Slowly, Katlego reached out and put a careful hand on Ayumu’s shoulder. “No one will beat you again,” he promised. “Or touch you in any way you do not want.” 

Ayumu nodded, but seemed too overcome to speak, raising his sleeve to blot the tears that were sliding down his cheeks. 

Katlego gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and then sat back. “For now, though, I want you to rest, for the remainder of your heat. Yannic will bring your meals personally. Do you need anything more? I do not know much about omegas’ heats.” 

Ayumu shook his head, drawing his knees up and pressing his face into them. He was still crying, Katlego thought, and after a moment he stood. “I’ll let you alone then, and we will speak further when you feel better. No—don’t get up. I would rather have you resting quietly in your bed.” 

He left, sliding the door shut behind him, and then leaned against the wall, letting out a long breath. He was exhausted too and was going to go back to bed himself to try and get some more sleep. Although he wasn’t sure he would succeed, not when he recalled Ayumu sobbing and thanking Katlego for his kindness, when it had been his fault in the first place that Ayumu had been hurt.

*

His master left, shutting the door, and Ayumu slumped down onto the bed. He buried his face in his pillow, trying to muffle the tears that he couldn’t seem to stop. He _shouldn’t_ be crying. Not when, instead of beating or selling him, his master had brought a doctor to see him, and gotten rid of the guards, and actually apologized. 

He didn’t know what to make of it. Never in his experience had anyone who owned him or used him ever cared that much for his wellbeing. Even if they did not want him hurt, they did not trouble themselves overmuch if he _was_. 

At least he had managed to gather his wits enough to convince his master that he had talents in other areas. The nobles who had visited Ayumu in the harem had all wanted sex, and so it would be a new experience to be with a master who did not. He must do his best to please his master in other ways, to make him happy to keep Ayumu at his side. For despite his master’s promise that Ayumu would not be beaten or taken against his will, he could not trust that his master would keep him if he could not show his worth. 

Such were his thoughts, as clear as he could make them. His heat was sapping his energy, along with the lingering effects of whatever medicines he had been given. And he could not help remembering the guards’ hands on him and the rough, degrading things they said. It made him feel sick and unclean, and he wrapped the blanket tightly around himself.

He had stopped crying and was staring blankly at the wall, when a knock sounded and Yannic appeared. He had a tray of food and what looked like another medicinal draught. 

Ayumu could not help shrinking away from him slightly. Yannic noticed, and he paused before slowly setting the tray down at the bedside, his lips pressed in a grim line. Then, to Ayumu’s shock, he knelt on the floor and bowed down once, twice, three times in the traditional gesture of apology. 

“I should have stopped them,” he said, his eyes fixed on a spot above Ayumu’s bed. “I should have known what was happening and stopped them. Eka too. I know he beat you.”

“Sir,” Ayumu whispered. “You do not—I am a slave—it—it is my place to—”

“No,” Yannic said firmly, cutting him off. “You did not deserve any of that.” He took a deep breath and then met Ayumu’s eyes. “From now on, you will come to me and tell me if anyone one hurts you.”

“Yes, sir,” Ayumu said, wondering how he would ever find the nerve to do so. 

Yannic nodded and rose but did not leave immediately. “The doctor said you were to have rice and broth, and the medicine will help dull your heat. What else do you require?”

“If… if I might have some hot water to wash with?” Ayumu ventured.

“Of course. I can help you to the bath later, too, if you like.”

“Oh, I… I can manage it myself. Perhaps tomorrow,” he said. A bath sounded lovely, but he did not want Yannic touching him and also did not like the thought of disrobing outside of the safety of his own room.

“Very well.”

Still, Yannic did not leave. Ayumu’s stomach gurgled, hungry, and he glanced longingly at the bowl of steaming rice. 

“I hope that you can help him,” Yannic said abruptly, and Ayumu looked at him, confused. 

“His lordship,” Yannic clarified. “He is in pain. And he is very lonely.”

Ayumu bowed, murmured something about doing his best, and did not look up again until Yannic had left. 

He ate the rice and broth, drank the medicine, and washed with the hot water someone—perhaps Dorji—brought and left outside the door, signaling with a brief knock. Then he retreated to his bed and burrowed under the blanket. He thought about what Yannic had said.

If his master was lonely… well, Ayumu was lonely as well. Wouldn’t it be nice, to serve as a companion to someone who treated him with kindness? If only he could trust that his master really would care for him. He had never had such a thing before, and it seemed too much to hope for now. He knew all too well how capricious and cruel the world was for a slave. Trust and hope? How could such things exist, in his world?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this verse, alphas, betas, and omegas are all subsets of the male gender. Omegas and women are viewed as having many similar characteristics, though. I'm indebted to the fic ["Salt in the Ruins"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16393415) by dawnstruck for this concept. (It's also an excellent arranged marriage fic that I would recommend)
> 
> Update 1/18/21: I'm adding a further explanatory note here on where Katlego falls on the asexuality spectrum. It is expanded on in the story in later chapters, but I want to include a note here so people can pull out now if it is not what they're looking for. I identify as asexual personally, and so I understand the desire to find characters in fic that one can identify with. Indeed, I admittedly am basing much of Katlego's asexuality on my own experience because I have never really found it expressed in a fic. Katlego is not sexually attracted to anyone and does not want to have sex with anyone. He does not like kissing either. Cuddling/hugging is okay in certain circumstances, but he is not particularly physically affectionate in any form. HOWEVER--and this is brought up in a later chapter--he does enjoy masturbation and gets off on pornographic materials, including those of omegas submitting to alphas. Again, this is very much my experience of being asexual yet enjoying self-pleasure and porn. But I totally recognize it is not everyone's experience of asexuality, and if it is not what you want to read, no hard feelings. Although I do not read/write solely for the purpose of finding characters like myself in fic, I won't deny that it is a part of it, and I understand how it can influence the kinds of fic one wants to read.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific tags: Memories of forced pregnancy

For four days, Ayumu kept to his room, resting. Although his heat dissipated on the third day, his master insisted that he spend another day recuperating. Ayumu only made a token protest. Being able to lie abed, napping, drinking tea, and nibbling on the candied orange peels that his master had brought as a gift reminded him of how it had been during some of the best days in the palace. He had not had a guest to entertain every night, after all, and there had been many pleasant times relaxing with some of the other omegas and women he was close with or walking and sitting in the harem garden with its sandy paths and the pond filled with yellow and red fish. 

It also brought to mind the month or so after Yukiko was born, when he had been excused from all duties. From a window in their quarters, he had been able to catch a glimpse of the green hills to the west of the city. He would sit there in the sunshine, nursing her and rocking her when she cried, looking out at those hills and imagining what it would be like to walk through their forests and climb their slopes. Even if it was only a trip of two days to visit a temple and make an offering to the local spirits, he would have enjoyed it. Having been born in the city slums that clustered on the riverfront to the south, Ayumu had never gone further than half a mile from the city before he had been enslaved due to his parents’ debts. One of the palace stewards, always on the lookout for likely omegas, had bought him. Then his life had narrowed to the walls of the harem and its gardens as he was taught how to read and write, how to dance and play music, and how to please the alphas and betas he would serve when he grew older. 

And now perhaps half his life was behind him, and he had still never stood on the crest of those hills to see what lay beyond. 

From his new window in Katlego’s house he could see the apricot tree in the garden. It was not a bad view, and when he was not taking naps during the day, he opened the window screen and breathed the fresh air and watched the apricot blossoms fall into little white heaps of petals on the ground. He also realized that the windows he could see on the right side of the courtyard must belong to his master’s chambers. Often when he woke during the night and fumbled the window screen open, seeking a glimpse of the stars or the moon, he could see lamplight shining through those windows and knew that his master must be awake as well. Was it the injury to his leg that kept him from sleep? Or the darker emotions that Yannic had alluded to?

Ayumu had plenty of opportunities to ponder this, for his sleep was troubled, and he woke often, his heart pounding. The scent of alphas filled his fractured dreams, and sometimes he had to stumble to his door and touch it, convincing himself that it was not open and that there were no sounds of footsteps in the corridor, coming for him. And sometimes during the day, his view of the apricot tree blurred as tears welled in his eyes, unbidden. 

He reminded himself that he had been through a time like this before, when he had been pregnant with Yukiko. Although he had known, beforehand, that he was to be bred during his heat, it had not made the experience any easier. The alpha had been one of the court ministers who had done something of great benefit to the kingdom—Ayumu had never been very clear on what exactly—and the emperor had granted him several favors as a reward. One favor had been a night with one of the harem slaves, and the minister had specifically requested an omega in heat. Although he had a wife and two female concubines, he had never had the pleasure of an omega begging for his knot, he said. 

By chance, Ayumu had been near his heat, and so he was chosen. 

“It’s almost certain that he’ll breed you,” the steward who oversaw the harem had told Ayumu. “You’ll keep the child. Some alphas enjoy bedding pregnant omegas, particularly once your milk comes in.” 

And so the minister had been sent to Ayumu’s bed, and even as Ayumu’s body succumbed to the instincts of his heat, he had kept an awareness that this alpha had no care for the results of their couplings. He would be indifferent to the baby. He cared only for his own pleasure. 

Ayumu had never felt more humiliated, more low and wretched, than he had when his heat cleared, and he touched his stomach, knowing there was another life inside him now. A life that meant nothing to anyone except him. The baby’s creation, its growth over the coming months—all of it only served as a way for men to find sexual release in his body. 

The next time a guest came and started to touch him, Ayumu had flinched and pulled back, an instinctual and reflexive reaction, unable to stop the accompanying tears and whimpers. The steward had beaten him as punishment, and the thought of losing his place, of being turned out of the palace when he was pregnant, had terrified him more than pleasuring another alpha. So he forced his thoughts away from what had happened and focused on other things. He practiced a new song on his zither, and went for walks in the gardens, and embroidered butterflies on baby clothes. When he was with a guest, he concentrated on the physical sensations, reminding himself that many of them did not degrade him but enjoyed his beauty and skills. He saved some coin so that he could buy a few stuffed toys and a rattle for the baby and spent many hours thinking of names for the little one. And he only allowed himself to cry when he was in the baths, and the steam washed the evidence away. 

So now, he must do the same. He must move forward and occupy himself with new things. His master was giving him another chance, and Ayumu was determined to prove his worth. 

On the fifth day, he laid abed until mid-morning and then made his way to the bath. The servants and guardsmen bathed before the sun rose or late in the evening, and the master had his own bathing chamber, so Ayumu could be alone as he disrobed and washed. It felt good to immerse himself in the hot water after days of sponge baths. He squeezed as much water as he could from his hair with a towel and then spent some time braiding the strands that fell on either side of his face. He twisted the rest of his hair into a bun on the top of his head and looped the braids so they dangled below his earlobes, pinning and tucking the ends into the bun. Back in his room, he opened his small jewelry chest and chose a hair stick with two dark blue beads and a freshwater pearl on the end. He tried several angles before finding one that pleased him. 

He dressed in the fine robe he had worn the day he came to the house and then took his little mirror and carefully applied some paint to his eyelids and lips. A small glass bottle filled with a perfume, received from one of the other omegas as a parting gift, came last, and he dabbed some on his wrists, breathing in the citrusy, slightly spicy fragrance. 

He felt like himself again, for the first time in weeks. It gave him the confidence to collect the letter he had written to Boyana and Yukiko, explaining that he had been ill but was feeling better and hoped to visit soon. He took it to Yannic, asking for it to be delivered. Of course, he did not say who it was really for, only that he wished to write to an acquaintance of his among the palace servants. 

Yannic’s eyes widened at Ayumu’s appearance, and he almost overturned a pot of ink as he reached to take the letter, promising that he would find an errand boy that hour. Ayumu rather wished he had a fan so he wouldn’t have to bite back his smile as he bowed and murmured his thanks.

“The master is in his chambers?” he asked.

Yannic nodded, and then added in a gruff voice, as Ayumu turned away, “He might be terse and snappish at first. But don’t let it put you off.”

When he knocked softly on his master’s door, there was a brief pause, and then a command to enter. Ayumu slid the door open and saw Katlego was seated by the window, his bad leg elevated on a small stool. His master still wore his sleeping robes, and his hair hung uncombed and disheveled around his face. 

“Ayumu!” he exclaimed, his brow creasing in concern. “Is something the matter? Why are you out of bed?” 

Ayumu bowed, holding the position. His heart was beating quickly, but he tried to keep his voice smooth and calm. “Nothing is the matter, master. I am feeling much better.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. But…” There was an awkward pause. “Was there something you needed?” his master finished, sounding confused.

“No, master. I only though that perhaps you might enjoy some company.” Ayumu chanced a glance up. Katlego was looking rather lost, a frown still marring his expression. “You had said that you might find it pleasing, master,” Ayumu reminded him. “I could read to you. Perhaps you might enjoy some tea as well?”

“Oh. Yes, I had said that. I… very well, if you are sure you’re feeling well enough.” 

Ayumu straightened, relieved. “I would like something to do, master. Lying idle in bed grows tiresome.”

“Ah. So it does,” Katlego agreed, and Ayumu could hear the bitterness in his voice.

If Katlego had been one of his guests, Ayumu would have offered to brush and braid his hair for him and retied the sash of his robe so it was not half-falling off one shoulder. But he did not know how his master would react to such an offer. So he settled for adjusting the pillows in Katlego’s chair. Katlego seemed startled, and he stiffened for a moment before relaxing again. 

“I will ask Dorji to bring us some tea, and you can think about what you would like me to read,” Ayumu continued. 

Dorji responded to his summons swiftly. For some reason he seemed surprised when Ayumu asked for a tea pot, water, and some white tea leaves, but went off to fetch them without protest. He looked entirely out of place, Ayumu thought, as he watched Dorji’s hulking figure lumber off down the hall. Ayumu could easily imagine him strapping on their master’s armor in a tent, but he cut an absurd figure as a chamber servant. 

“Now, what shall I read, master?” he asked, turning back. 

But Katlego simply waved a hand at the shelves on the wall, piled with haphazard stacks of books and maps. “Pick something. It doesn’t matter.”

There were a number of treatises on military tactics, which would not do at all. Some historical works, several books about raising horses, and then finally a slim volume of poetry that Ayumu seized upon with relief. The poems were all about spirits and legends, and Ayumu recognized several as he flipped through it. 

When he went to kneel on a cushion at his master’s side, though, Katlego put out a hand, stopping him. “You don’t have to sit there,” he said, sounding awkward.

Ayumu blinked. “Where should I sit, master?”

Katlego cast his eyes around the room. “Ah, well… the other chair, perhaps?” 

Ayumu had often sat next to guests during a meal, accepting choice tidbits and refilling their wine, but that was completely different. The very idea of sitting across from his master in a chair, as though they were equals, conversing, flew against every protocol he had been taught. 

“The chair?” he repeated, and he held the book tighter, unable to stop his scent spiking with distress.

“Or… or not,” Katlego conceded. “You can sit wherever you want.”

Ayumu’s breathing eased. “I will be fine here, master,” he assured Katlego, settling onto the cushion. He was near enough to lean against Katlego’s knee, and he half-expected his master’s hand to settle on his head, stroking. But of course his master did not do so, and Ayumu kept a careful few inches between them. 

“You are comfortable, master?” he asked before opening the book. He looked up at Katlego. “Do you need another cushion or a light quilt? The breeze from the window is cool.”

Katlego’s cheeks were flushed, and his brow was still furrowed. He snapped, “I’m fine. I’m not a damned invalid.”

It took all of Ayumu’s willpower not to flinch, to breathe deeply and murmur, “Of course not, master. This slave did not mean to suggest such a thing.”

“I didn’t—ah, I did not mean to be harsh,” his master muttered. “Please, just… just read your book.” 

A sinking feeling of panic was building in Ayumu, but he forced it down. Once more he had misstepped. He was failing to soothe his master. Katlego acted so strangely, so confusingly. 

But no—he could do this. He was dressed prettily—he had seen his master’s gaze catch on him when he first entered. Soon he would have tea to pour. He would read a poem or two. And surely then his master’s expression would lighten. Surely he would manage to coax a smile from his master. He reminded himself of Yannic’s words. He could not take his master’s moods too much to heart.

“I thought you might like to hear the legend of the sky loom,” Ayumu said, opening his book. 

Katlego shifted restlessly next to him. “Yes—whatever is fine.” 

Ayumu had always liked this story and had often told it to Yukiko on early mornings when he managed to snatch some time with her and they stood in the garden watching the sunrise paint the sky pink and orange. 

_You have heard her name before now,  
Seen the threads she weaves across the sky,  
The sunset banner, red and gold,  
The sunrise, bright; the black night, cold.  
Dark clouds she wends among the blue,  
Rain to fall on parched fields.  
And then the sun shines warm again,  
Rainbows unspooling from her skein._

_A gifted weaver, Emraday,  
To spin the weathers of the world.  
And yet she is not spirit, bound,  
But mortal girl, who once was found,  
In a village by the river’s shore,  
Spinning wool and singing; her voice  
Caught the jealous ear of Naerid,  
Spider spirit, in shadows hid._

_Naerid, she wove her webs with pride,  
Starlight filled the strands of silk.  
And so it stung, to think that one,  
Mere girl with humble wool had spun,  
More skillfully. So Naerid swore,  
That Emraday no more would live,  
And such evil words did not misgive._

_A woman’s form, the spider took,  
And lightly knocked upon the door.  
Heedless, Emraday let her in,  
And Naerid, clothed in human skin,  
Sat and smiled and drank her tea,  
While putting poison in the cup,  
That Emraday raised to her lips,  
In a swoon to fall upon a sip._

_The girl’s still form the spider bound,  
In silken strands with strength of steel.  
Her blood the spider meant to drink,  
And to her lair began to slink,  
When there upon the threshold stood,  
With dagger sharp and gauntlet strong,  
Emraday’s lover, Celadine,  
Her black hair long; her green eyes keen._

_She slashed and struck, her blade sunk home,  
And Naerid, hurt and craven, fled.  
While Celadine her love did hold,  
To live, she kissed her and cajoled,  
And Emraday woke with a smile,  
As sweet as honey to her love,  
Who swore on honor bold and free  
By her weaver’s side always to be._

_But the fear it lingered also,  
For in shadowed lair the spider,  
Nursed her hate and oaths swore too,  
Her revenge to have upon the two  
Who dared defy her; Celadine  
And Emraday steeled their hearts to  
Flee from home and hearth and wander,  
Lest Naerid tear their lives asunder. _

_Long were the miles and weary  
And their steps forever dogged  
By cruel spirits Naerid sent  
Until their strength was nearly spent.  
Then Emraday sat by her love  
And wept to see how Celadine,  
From fearsome wounds was wracked with pain,  
Yet strove to rise and fight again. _

_So Emraday a prayer did send,  
That a good spirit aid might give,  
And offered in return her skill,  
Should kind spirit her plea fulfill.  
It chanced that Aulus heard her cry,  
Wind spirit, who oft her loom had seen,  
When whirling past upon a breeze,  
That tossed the leaves and boughs of trees._

_He had not strength Naerid to kill,  
But could set them far from spider’s  
Reach, high above in endless sky,  
Where Emraday her loom could ply,  
And weave the sunset and the rain.  
But what of Celadine, my love?  
Cried Emraday, and Aulus spoke,  
That she the morning star must yoke._

_A shepherd of the morning star,  
Celadine its light would guard, and  
Pasture it in grey fields of dawn.  
The weaver listened, pale and wan,  
To save her love a choice must make,  
The two together in the sky,  
Yet kept apart, their eyes to meet,  
At morning with a glance so fleet. _

_But else would doom them to their death.  
And but one hour a day to see,  
Your face so dear is better,  
Said Celadine, than lose forever,  
Your form and voice and smile so fair.  
So one last time did Emraday,  
Hold and kiss her, love pledged true,  
Then to the sky with Aulus flew. _

_So when you look into the sky,  
Strung with the loom of Emraday,  
And see it woven blue and bright,  
A placid sea with clouds of white,  
Know Emraday thinks of the days  
So sweetly spent with Celadine.  
But when her threads bring forth the storm,  
She mourns her lover lost, forlorn. _

“My grandmother used to tell me that story when I was little,” Katlego commented when Ayumu finished. “I was always frustrated that Celadine didn’t slay Naerid.” He said it with a little huff of laughter, and when Ayumu looked up, there was the hint of a smile about his mouth. 

Some of Ayumu’s nerves dissipated at this improvement in his master’s humor. Dorji arrived with the tea, then, and Ayumu prepared two cups while Katlego watched, elbow propped on the arm of his chair and his chin resting in his hand. 

“Thank you,” he said when Ayumu handed him a cup. But after a sip or two, he stopped drinking.

It could not be the quality of the tea—Ayumu was drinking his own, kneeling once more at his master’s side, and it had a smooth, mellow flavor. 

“Is the tea not to your liking, master? I promise there is no poison in the cup,” he added, alluding to the story.

Another brief smile. “Ah, no, it is very good. It is only that I usually drink coffee.”

Ayumu frowned. “Coffee?” 

“You don’t know of it? I picked up the habit on the border—they drink a lot of it up north. It has a much stronger flavor than tea.”

If his master had only voiced this preference earlier, Ayumu would have had Dorji bring coffee instead. 

A light touch on his shoulder, and he raised his eyes to see his master looking at him. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were soft. “Next time, you can have tea, and I’ll have coffee.”

Next time. _Next time_. Ayumu nodded and then, slowly, leaned against Katlego’s leg. He felt his master still, but he didn’t protest, and after a moment he gently squeezed Ayumu’s shoulder before letting go. 

*

Ayumu stayed with him until mid-afternoon. Katlego wished he could convince Ayumu to stop kneeling on the floor, but he had smelled so distressed when Katlego had suggested it that he hadn’t brought it up again. Admittedly, it would not be proper to have a slave or even a servant seated across from him so casually, but he had grown used to the more informal ways of life in the military. When they had been on patrol or campaign, Yannic and Dorji often sat with Mac and him around the fire, talking. At least at dinner Ayumu had agreed to sit with him at the table, although instead of sitting opposite Katlego he had sat at his side and spent much of the meal choosing food to put on Katlego’s plate or refilling his cup. Katlego allowed it, but also made sure to keep Ayumu’s plate full. Ayumu was still too thin, and Katlego didn’t trust him to take enough for himself. The first time he put some pieces of lamb on Ayumu’s plate, Ayumu had hesitated, clearly surprised, but then ate them quickly.

After dinner, Ayumu read some more poems and tales. He finished one about the hawks that lived on Mount Ever-White that stole the fur from a fox spirit’s tail and paused, taking a sip of tea to soothe his voice. 

It was quiet in the room. Clouds had gathered, and the afternoon light was muted. Ayumu shifted slightly, the silk of his robes rustling. 

Then voices in the courtyard—two of the men-at-arms passing by below the window, talking. Ayumu tensed and then pressed against Katlego’s leg. The book slid to the floor, and Ayumu fisted a hand in the loose fabric of Katlego’s trousers. 

Guilt squeezed its fist around Katlego’s heart. “You’re all right,” he murmured. “They won’t hurt you.” A horrible thought occurred, and he could not stop himself from blurting, “They… they _didn’t_ hurt you, did they?”

Ayumu shook his head, and Katlego let out his breath, reaching out to touch Ayumu’s shoulder again. But then he hesitated. Perhaps any touch would be unwanted at the moment. “Vergil and Subin are gone from this house. Vergil punished, and Subin appears to have fled the city. And I have given strict orders to Eka that he is not to lay a hand on you.” 

A few seconds passed, and then Ayumu nodded and straightened. He smoothed away the wrinkles in Katlego’s trousers. “Perhaps… perhaps I will go and rest, master?” he whispered, not raising his head.

“Of course.” He reached down, picking up the book that Ayumu had dropped. “I will read a bit longer. I… I enjoyed hearing the tales.” 

He had hoped for a smile, but Ayumu seemed to not quite hear or comprehend, his expression far away. A low bow, and then he shuffled from the room, sliding the door closed again behind him. 

After supper that evening, Yannic gave his usual report on the day’s affairs and then paused, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “It went well today, then? With the omega.”

“What do you mean?” Katlego growled, willing himself not to flush. He could not help thinking of how Ayumu had looked—his hair arranged so prettily, his dark eyes looking up at Katlego—and the slim warmth of his body leaning against his leg. 

“Only that you appeared somewhat content, my lord, in his company. Better than the last few weeks.”

The last few weeks when he had spent much of the day napping restlessly in his bed, his mood low and despairing. 

“It was pleasant,” he allowed. 

“A small matter occurred to me today, my lord. Concerning the omega.”

Katlego gestured for him to continue.

“Of course, the servants—including myself—receive our monthly wages at this time. And although he is a slave, Ayumu will still have needs—clothing and things of that sort. Do you wish me to give him an allowance, my lord?”

Another thing that had never entered his mind. Was he really so insensitive of Ayumu’s needs? Of course he must provide for him. “Yes, you may give him some coin at the same time as the others.” Katlego named a sum. “Tell him he may spend it however he wishes and that if he needs more for some reason he is to ask me.” 

Katlego slept late the next morning and had only just finished his breakfast, his hair still loose around his shoulders, when Ayumu appeared. For some reason, Katlego had not expected him to return so quickly after the awkwardness of the day before, but as Ayumu bowed, it dawned on him that this was Ayumu’s expected function; this was what he had spent much of his life doing—attending to wealthy and noble-born alphas in whatever way pleased them. 

“Thank you, master, for granting this slave such a generous allowance,” Ayumu was saying from his obeisance on the floor. 

Katlego cleared his throat. “I should have thought of it before, but Yannic reminded me. Will it be enough?”

“Yes, master. Only…” Ayumu paused, rising to his knees but keeping his eyes downcast. 

“Tell me,” Katlego prompted. “What do you need?”

“I do not need it, master, but I have only this one robe fine enough to wear in your presence. I fear it will become dirty or tear and then I should have nothing else.” 

“Ah, of course. You can go to a tailor, then, and choose the cloth for some new ones. Have them send the bill to this house.”

Ayumu glanced up at that, surprised again, but clearly pleased. “I may choose the cloth, master?”

“Well I would certainly make a bad job of it, and Yannic or Dorji would be worse than useless too.”

“But you will come with me, master? So that I may know that I pick a color and style that will please you.” 

“There is no need for _that_ ,” Katlego scoffed, and Ayumu’s face fell.

“Of course not, master,” he murmured.

“But… but if you think it better that I come, I shall,” he amended awkwardly.

“I would like it, master. And you might enjoy a small trip into the city.”

It would mean riding in the carriage. And he would probably need a walking stick. But Ayumu looked happy at the prospect, and so he bit back his instinctive protests. 

Although Katlego hadn’t meant to imply that they would go that very morning, Ayumu seemed to take it as a given, and before Katlego quite knew what had happened, the breakfast dishes had been whisked away, and Dorji was there helping him dress, while Ayumu hovered nearby. 

Katlego had always brushed and braided his own hair, caring little for whether the result was neat, as it was usually stuffed into his helmet anyway or became windblown in a matter of minutes. But Ayumu asked if he might help, and Katlego could not refuse him. Not when he remembered how Ayumu had begged for the opportunity to prove his usefulness, half-delirious from his heat and in pain. He knew, now, how easy it would be for him to unintentionally hurt Ayumu through a thoughtless comment or his inattention. 

Ayumu’s touch was very different from Dorji’s coarse hands. Gentle, careful fingers smoothed his hair off his forehead, and Ayumu spent much longer brushing his hair than Katlego did, even adding some fragrant oil. It felt nice—indulgent, even, and he shut his eyes, relaxing into the attention. Given how artfully Ayumu arranged his own hair, Katlego was unsurprised that Ayumu produced a neat braid and even added some engraved silver bands at various points along its length, pinching them closed around the hair. Katlego had forgotten he even possessed such ornaments. 

Then it was time to get into the hated carriage. At least he could distract himself with helping Ayumu climb in after him and making sure he was settled comfortably. 

*

His master did not like riding in the carriage. His stiff posture and the grimace on his face made that plain. He had reluctantly accepted a walking stick from Dorji before they left, and he had not looked at any of them as he limped slowly down the steps to the street. 

Some of it was due to the pain of his injury, Ayumu guessed, and the rest because his master had been a young, active man with a brilliant military career ahead of him but a few months before. 

But the prospect of getting out of the house had been so appealing, not to mention the delight of getting to buy new clothes, that Ayumu had decided to operate on the assumption that of course his master would go with him without giving Katlego the opportunity to veto the plan. For his part, Ayumu longed for a change of scenery beyond his room and his master’s. He was too uneasy to venture by himself into the garden with the men-at-arms about and had no desire to visit the kitchen ever again. His last time in the city had been when he visited Yukiko, and he remembered the thrill of being out in the bustling streets, of looking in the shop windows, of seeing the various people going by. It was no good for his master to stay shut in his rooms all day, either. 

“Ah, see, they are having a kite festival today,” Ayumu said, pointing out the window. The carriage was passing by a large public garden, and it was thronged with people and bright paper kites swooping on their strings in the wind. Children dashed around, laughing, and with a pang, he thought of how Yukiko would enjoy it. 

Katlego slowly focused on the scene and interest brightened his eyes. “There’s one shaped like a dragon,” he commented, leaning out the window. “And look at that one with all the yellow ribbons. Oh, that one has gotten caught in a tree, and that fellow is climbing up to get it down.”

It would be unseemly for an omega slave to stick his head out the carriage window, and Ayumu found that the unguarded smile on his master’s face held his interest more than the colorful kites anyway. But a moment later, Katlego’s face darkened, and he turned his head away.

“Master?” 

“I… do not care to watch anymore,” Katlego said, his jaw tight. 

From all Ayumu had heard and seen over the past few weeks in his new master’s house, Katlego had not yet come to peace with the fact that he would likely always have a lame leg. It must hurt to watch others running and jumping and climbing with abandon. But he felt speaking about it would only chafe Katlego’s pride, and so he turned the conversation to light comments concerning the weather and the appalling state of the city’s roads the carriage jostled over—a perennial complaint by all inhabitants. 

When they arrived at the tailor’s shop and stepped from the carriage, Ayumu saw that many passers-by paid him a lingering look. The last time he had been out in public, he had been dressed very plainly, but now he was at his master’s side and needed to look the part. He knew that he was older than would be considered desirable in a slave by many, but he had confidence that he looked suitably pretty and held himself elegantly so that his master might feel proud to show him off in public. He slipped an arm through Katlego’s, pressing closer to his side—closer than would be considered proper for a marriage partner, but exactly how a beta or alpha would want their omega slave. As always, though, his master seemed unaware of such nuances and gave Ayumu a startled look. But he did not forbid it or draw his arm away, and so Ayumu stayed, finding the scent of his master comforting as he attracted lustful glances from a few passing alphas.

The tailor, a woman who introduced herself as Savitri, grasped Ayumu’s status immediately. His master appeared to be a usual customer of hers.

“We all heard of your great victory, my lord,” she told Katlego, bowing. “But I did not realize the emperor had granted you such a fine gift. May I assume you wish to have some additional clothes for your omega?”

Katlego confirmed this, and Savitri’s eyes fixed appraisingly upon Ayumu. She gestured for an assistant to join her, and they began taking measurements, removing Ayumu’s outer robes as necessary and directing him this way and that. Katlego watched for a few minutes, frowning, and then limped over to examine some ready-made woolen caps, done in the newest fashion. 

Next came the part that Ayumu had been looking forward to, as he had never been able to choose his own clothes in the harem. There had been no shortage of fine silks and satins, of course, but the steward selected the particular fabrics, cut, and styles for all the slaves’ garments. Here, though, were yards and yards of beautiful patterned silks, brightly colored. His master did not seem to care much which he picked,a nd so he was free to select what he liked best.

“This one, I think,” he decided at last, pointing to a dark blue silk embroidered with white herons and pink peonies.

“It will be lovely with your complexion,” Savitri agreed. “A white collar and lighter blue bands around the sleeves. And for the sash, perhaps this darker rose color, with blue piping on the edges.” 

He chose fabrics for two more robes, and his master agreed that he should have another set of linen undergarments. 

“And for the bedroom, perhaps this?” Savitri inquired, holding up a bolt of sheer cream silk that would hardly conceal anything. 

“Ah, that will be unnecessary,” Ayumu said hastily, sparing his master, who had flushed and scowled at the implication. 

Ayumu took his arm again, noting the rigid tension in Katlego’s muscles, and steered him gently toward the hats he had been admiring earlier. “Perhaps you could do with a new cap, master. The dark red one would look very nice.”

Sensing the opportunity for another sale, Savitri hurried over as well. “My lord has not had the chance to update his wardrobe this year, and these are the latest style. All the fashionable young men in the city have them.”

Katlego hesitated, and for a moment, Ayumu thought he would refuse, but then his master nodded. “All right. You can send it with the other things, when they’re ready.” His hand tightened on his walking stick, and Ayumu felt him take a long, careful breath. 

He had been standing too long, and his leg must be hurting, but of course, he would not admit to it. 

“Shall we go home, master?” he asked in a quiet voice. 

Katlego met his eyes and his strained expression eased a little. “You have gotten all that you wanted?”

Ayumu nodded.

“And you like the fabrics you chose?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling, thinking of his lovely silks, and Katlego smiled as well. 

“Good. I want you to be happy.” 

These words struck at something in Ayumu’s heart, uttered as they were in such plain, straightforward tones, with no expectation that they must be repaid in his master’s bedchamber later. Part of him wanted to drop to the floor, to put his head down and thank his master for his kindness, to kiss his master’s feet to show how humbled he was by his master’s gratitude. That was how they would have expected him to behave in the palace. And yet he knew, somehow, that Katlego would not like this, especially not in a tailor’s shop with others watching them. And part of him did not want to do it either. It was nice to be able to hold Katlego’s arm, to see Katlego’s smile and answer it with his own. 

He trembled a little, caught between two warring instincts, and his scent must have sharpened with his anxiety, for Katlego looked worried and quickly wrapped up their business with Savriti. In the carriage, he insisted Ayumu have a warm blanket over his lap, to ward off chills, and ordered him to go rest as soon as they returned home. 

Ayumu had intended to see to a warm compress for Katlego’s leg, but he supposed Yannic and Dorji knew well how to tend to Katlego after months of doing so. He felt strangely close to tears, and if he did cry, it would be better if it happened when he was alone in his own chamber, lest his master misconstrue their meaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because if fic is not the place for the mediocre poetry I enjoy writing, what is?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm adding a tag for ableist language, as Katlego often thinks of himself/his situation in these terms.

_Mac,_

_I’m writing to head you off at the pass so that you don’t abandon planning the summer campaigns for the foolish mission of coming to see if I’m holding out all right. Because I am—doing all right, I mean. The leg bothers me a bit, especially when the weather gets damp, but I manage._

_As to Yannic and Dorji, I don’t know about this nonsense you write about my ‘seeking to reward them.’ They were the ones who offered to stay, and even if I’d said no and packed them off to the border, they’d have been right back here in a week or two, never mind the charges of desertion. Maybe it is cruel—Dorji is better suited to strapping on armor than messing about with silks. And you know Yannic never cracks an expression if he can help it, but I can tell it’s not easy for him, suddenly getting the job of managing a household. But—well, it’s been lonely, Mac. I miss you and all the others. I don’t know what I should have done if they hadn’t stayed._

_But don’t take that as your cue to come galloping down here. For I’ve gotten someone else to keep me company. Well, it wasn’t of my own volition, initially—and it’s the damnedest thing—you’ll laugh, I know, when you read this. Remember General Ondrej, with his fancy suppers, rooms all hung with silk tapestries, and the omega slaves he’d keep around? And that one night, when he’d invited us, the young officers, for supper and then told us to pick a slave we liked to take to our bed? Like a fool, I told him I wasn’t interested and why, and for months after, he gave me the worst assignments because he had no use for a soldier who wasn’t even man enough to—well, I’m sure you’ll remember his colorful descriptions of exactly what I couldn’t do._

_As fate would have it, I’ve ended up with an omega anyway—the emperor gifted me a slave from the palace harem. I had the sense not to turn this gift away, but I made an awful mess of things, at first. I didn’t know what to do with a pleasure slave, and he ended up getting hurt because of my inattention. So now I’m letting him stay with me more often, but I still don’t know how to behave around him half the time. His name is Ayumu, and he’s so meek and inoffensive and fucking terrified that I’m going to turn him out of the house if he does the wrong thing. I haven’t gotten him to trust me yet, Mac, and I can’t blame him._

_He comes to my rooms every day, wearing fine silks and makeup. Nothing tawdry, you understand—he dresses very elegantly. He insists on kneeling on a cushion next to me and seems to like it if I stroke his hair. The first few days of this, I had him read to me, but we exhausted every suitable book in the house pretty quick. He was getting into the treatises on breeding horses, and when he started reading about studs—I thought I’d just die, Mac, even if it’s a bit funny in retrospect. Thankfully, I remembered he said he played the zither, so I bought one for him, and now we’re doing that instead, along with occasional walks in the garden and shopping trips into the city. See—I know you’re laughing. Me—going about in a carriage, shopping! But he likes it when I come with him, and he’s always so… so surprised and happy, when I buy him a new hair stick or bracelet or even little things like toasted almonds or candied fruit. And he’s talented on the zither. I don’t know anything about music, admittedly, but I think he plays wonderfully. He’s some years older than I am, and sometimes, when he relaxes enough, he’ll tease me a bit or make little jokes. And now he braids my hair every day and is always fussing with the collars of my robes._

_Anyway, that’s why I say you don’t need to come galloping to my rescue. Although I do hold out hope for a visit in the autumn._

_Your friend,_

_Katlego_

Katlego set aside his pen and glanced over the letter before stuffing it in an envelope to post. He hadn’t meant to write quite so much about Ayumu, but once he’d started, the words had kept coming. Mac was going to tease him about it, and how he sounded like a besotted youth. Which he _wasn’t_. But he couldn’t deny that he liked spending time with Ayumu, even if he still felt awkward half the time and guilty on the days when Ayumu flinched away from alphas and trembled as he leaned against Katlego. 

Ayumu was here now—he’d heard him come into the other room a few minutes before and had called out that he’d be there in a few moments after finishing his letter. Currently, Ayumu was tuning his zither. A late-morning routine had developed before Katlego had quite realized it, wherein Ayumu played music while Katlego drank his coffee and perused the news circulars. 

“Good morning, master,” Ayumu said to him when he entered the sitting room, glancing up from his zither and smiling. He was wearing one of his new robes—the blue one with the herons—and his hair was pinned up with the two hair sticks Katlego had bought him the day before, made of lacquered wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. 

“You look lovely,” he blurted.

“Because my master is so generous and gives me such fine clothes and ornaments,” Ayumu murmured, bowing. 

And that was all wrong, but if he said so, Ayumu would cringe and become anxious. So he held his tongue and settled into his chair, propping his leg onto the cushioned footstool. Ayumu rose and poured his coffee. He frowned a little, looking doubtfully at the dark liquid, as he always did since Katlego had offered him the chance to try some. 

“Are you sure you don’t want tea, master?” he asked for what must have been the tenth time. 

“I’m very sure,” Katlego replied.

“This _can’t_ be good for you,” Ayumu protested, even as he handed him the cup. 

“Just because you didn’t like the taste and spat it back out doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”

“But a mild green tea would be better for your health,” Ayumu wheedled. 

“I’ve been drinking coffee for several years now with no ill effects.”

“No ill effects _yet_ ,” Ayumu murmured, but he went back to his zither and Katlego hid his smile in his cup. 

Katlego had asked Ayumu once how long it took him to learn to play.

“Years to play at this level,” Ayumu had replied. “They brought in a teacher for us, and of course, some of the older slaves were very skilled and could instruct us as well. I was much better at it than dancing. My dancing instructor rather gave up on me, I fear. I was too shy.”

The songs Ayumu played on his zither were calm, wandering melodies that lingered over notes before turning into new harmonies, like a brook shimmering over stones and spreading into cool, moss-green pools. If Katlego asked, Ayumu would tell him the names of the songs, but once he had flushed and admitted that it had been his own composition.

“You should compose more songs, then,” Katlego told him, and Ayumu smiled. 

Katlego had not slept well the night before—cramps in his leg keeping him awake—and despite the coffee, he found himself dozing in the morning sunshine to the sounds of Ayumu’s zither. He roused to a gentle touch on his shoulder and found that it was quiet, and Ayumu was standing next to him. 

“Shall we go into the garden for some fresh air, master?” he asked. He held Katlego’s walking stick in his hand. 

“All right,” he agreed, still drowsy. He suspected Ayumu wouldn’t go into the garden unless Katlego was with him, and he also knew that Ayumu had definite opinions about the benefits of mild exercise before the afternoon meal. 

Spring was giving way to the heat of summer, and Ayumu wore a broad-brimmed straw hat. After circling what would have been a fish pond if the grounds had been kept up after his grandmother died but was instead merely a shallow depression filled with weeds and smooth rocks, Ayumu led them under the boughs of the apricot tree, now verdant with leaves that provided some shade. 

“Tomorrow,” Ayumu began and then stopped, looking at Katlego somewhat anxiously. 

“What about tomorrow?” he prompted.

“I… I thought I might run an errand or two in the morning. If it would not be an inconvenience to you, master.”

“By yourself?” Katlego asked, surprised. He had thought Ayumu didn’t like going out of the house alone.

Ayumu had pinched the cuff of his sleeve between two fingers and was rubbing it, his shoulders hunching forward. “Only to get a few small items. You would find it dull, master. But… but if you prefer to accompany me, then—”

Katlego stopped him. “No, no. As long as you are comfortable being in the city on your own, I do not mind at all.” He had a vague idea that Ayumu might need particular things as an omega, for his heats and so forth, and could well imagine that he wouldn’t want Katlego hovering around while he got them. 

“Thank you, master. This slave does not deserve your kindnesses.”

The more anxious Ayumu became the more likely he was to lapse into this sort of servile language. 

“You aren’t a prisoner here,” Katlego said softly, reaching out to still the nervous movements of Ayumu’s fingers. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Ayumu kept his head bowed, but he nodded. “I will dress plainly, master, and stay on the main thoroughfares.” 

Ayumu’s hand was small and slender, his skin smooth compared to Katlego’s roughened callouses. Although those were fading. He hadn’t held a sword in months. If he sparred with Mac now, he’d be on the ground in seconds. 

The thought hurt—it never stopped hurting, and he turned away and began limping toward his rooms, walking as fast as he was able, even though it was painful. Caught off guard, Ayumu trailed several steps behind him. And then he reached the stairs, tried to climb too quickly in his anger, and tripped, falling hard. The scar in his leg twanged, like an out-of-tune string on Ayumu’s zither. 

“Master!” Ayumu crouched next to him. 

“I just tripped,” he grit out, clenching his teeth. The frustration peaked, and he slammed his fist against the wooden boards. 

Ayumu pulled on his arm, helping him into a sitting position. “Let me get Dorji, and we’ll help you to your bed. Don’t try to stand and put weight on your leg.” 

Katlego didn’t protest, didn’t stop him from dashing off. The truth was that he did need help. He _was_ a damned invalid. 

He sat there until Ayumu returned with Dorji and let them lever him to his feet. Dorji took most of his weight, and he limped along until they made it back to his bedchamber where he could collapse onto the mattress. 

“He has some medicine, yes? For when his leg gets this bad?” Ayumu was asking Dorji. And then the door opened and Yannic hurried in to see what the commotion was all about. 

Katlego laid there, staring at the ceiling and letting their words wash over him. He obediently drank the foul-smelling tonic that Yannic prepared. In a few minutes the drug would take effect, numbing the pain. He could hear the others still talking quietly. He shut his eyes. 

A touch on his wrist, an unknown time later, and he blinked, slowly focusing on Ayumu, who was sitting on the bed at his side. They were alone in the room again, although Dorji had left the jar of salve that he was supposed to rub into his leg every day but often didn’t. 

It was stupid of him not to. Why didn’t he? It might help, might make his leg better. But nothing could ever make this better. What did “better” even mean? Being able to hobble about without a stick? Counting it a victory if he made it up a flight of stairs without falling? 

“Does it still hurt so badly?” Ayumu asked, sounding worried, and Katlego realized that tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes. 

He shook his head, throat too tight to speak. Tried to stop crying, but couldn’t. 

Ayumu took his hand again, holding it gently. He almost jerked away, but it felt… nice. Comforting. 

“What do you find the worst thing about it?” Ayumu asked quietly, cradling Katlego’s hand in both of his. 

He looked back up at the ceiling. “Not being able to move freely. Not being able to ride my horse over the fields, to spar with my friend, to walk around the fort and make sure all the men are doing their jobs properly.”

Ayumu didn’t offer any anodyne comments, simply kept holding his hand, his dark eyes soft, sympathetic. 

“I got afraid, in battle,” Katlego continued after a moment, his voice hoarse with the tears that still wouldn’t stop. “Most soldiers did. But I was afraid of dying. I never thought… I never thought about _this_. That I might end up a cripple.” 

Ayumu raised an arm, hesitated, and then reached out and blotted Katlego’s tears with the cuff of his sleeve. Katlego could smell his scent—mellow, overlaid with the citrusy perfume he wore. As a beta, scents were not as intense to him as they would be to an alpha, but he had still never cared particularly for them, had never understood Mac when he would wax lyrical about the scent of whichever woman or omega he was currently infatuated with. But Ayumu’s was so mild that he didn’t mind it—rather liked it, in fact. 

It seemed easy, suddenly, to say the things that had been festering in his heart. “I miss it. Even if it was a rough life, living on the border. I went there when I was sixteen, as an aide to another general. All… all of my friends are there. And I miss the open plains, and the wide lakes. I don’t like it here, in the city.” 

Ayumu rubbed Katlego’s knuckles, soothing. “It’s a hard thing. I think you’re very brave, to bear it as well as you do.”

“I’m not bearing it well. Look at me—I’m a mess. And I know I should be grateful, to still have my leg. I should be grateful that I have an inheritance, and I’ll never have to beg in the streets because I can’t work. But it hurts—it hurts so _much_.” He was crying again, damn it, and he tugged his hand free, rolling over so he could hide his face in his pillow. 

*

Katlego’s shoulders shook as he cried, although his sobs were choked, as though he were still trying to repress them. Ayumu hovered, unsure of what to do. If it had been Yukiko or one of the other omegas in the harem, he would have put his arms around them, but he did not know if his master would welcome it. He had not seemed averse to having his hand held, though, and Ayumu could not sit here doing nothing in the face of Katlego’s distress. 

The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed further onto the bed. Carefully, he eased an arm around Katlego’s right shoulder, pulling him into a loose hug. 

“It will be all right,” he murmured.

Katlego didn’t protest his closeness, and for several minutes they laid there as Katlego’s tears eased. His master relaxed a bit, finally, and when the worst of it seemed to have passed, he lay lax in Ayumu’s hold. 

“I’m going to get a cool cloth for your face,” Ayumu told him, and Katlego sniffed and nodded. He buried his face in it for a long minute when Ayumu brought it to him, and then finally let his hands drop into his lap. He had sat up, but his shoulders slumped, and with his mussed hair and reddened eyes he made a sorry sight indeed. So very different from the stern, glowering figure that had terrified Ayumu during those initial days. 

“Now, I know it will probably hurt, but Yannic said I should rub this salve into your leg,” he said, reaching for the jar.

Katlego stiffened and then clenched his jaw and laid back down. 

“I’m going to tuck your robe around your thigh, like so.” He was careful to avoid touching too close to Katlego’s groin. The long scar on his master’s leg was an angry red and swollen. Really, it was a miracle he walked about as much as he did. Probably he shouldn’t have been. 

Katlego flinched at the first touch of his hands, but Ayumu kept the pressure light. He had given many massages to his guests in the harem, although those almost always had a sensual purpose and transitioned into sex. There was none of that here, though, and he could tell that Katlego was tense—from the pain, primarily, but perhaps also some discomfort at being touched. The scar extended from his knee up into his inner thigh. 

Still, as he worked, his master grew somewhat easier and eventually stopped gripping the sheet in his fist. Probably the tonic they’d given him was taking effect as well. Katlego’s eyes began drifting shut and when Ayumu finished and covered him up again, he blinked owlishly. 

“I’ll do that for you every day, master,” Ayumu told him. 

“I was stupid not to,” Katlego said, his voice thick from the drug and hoarse with crying. “I wanted it all to go away.”

“I can understand that. But it won’t get any better that way, and a regular massage might help some. Warm and cold compresses, too, with various herbs.” 

Katlego blinked at him again, frowning. “You sound like a doctor.”

“Well, I do have an extensive knowledge of anatomy.”

Katlego’s mouth trembled, and then he dissolved into a laugh. Ayumu smiled too, though it had been a poor joke—there must have been quite a heavy dose of drugs in that tonic.

He went to the windows and shut the screens, making the room dimmer, then went and knelt by his master’s bed, leaning against it and resting his head on one of the pillows. Katlego reached out a clumsy hand and began stroking his hair. 

“I could dye it, if you preferred. So the grey didn’t show,” Ayumu said quietly. 

Katlego’s fingers paused and then resumed their slow motions. “No. I like it like this. It’s pretty.”

Once, he used to receive many compliments on his looks, but it had been quite some time since he’d been given such a sweet and sincere one. 

His master fell asleep soon after, and Ayumu returned to his own room. He was hungry, though, having missed dinner. But just going to the kitchen made him anxious, never mind speaking to Eka and asking for food. He was still dithering, half-decided that he could manage with the small bag of raisins his master had purchased from a street vendor the day before, when there was a knock on his door. He opened it to find Yannic standing there, holding a tray with a covered dish and two bowls. 

“Are you hungry?” Yannic asked. 

“Oh, y-yes. Thank you for bringing this, sir.” He remembered to bow, shuffling backwards at the same time so Yannic could enter. It still made him uneasy to have another person in his room.

Yannic entered and knelt to put the tray on the low dining table. Then he remained there, back straight, and fixed his solemn gaze on Ayumu. “I hoped I might join you. There is a matter I would like to discuss.” 

Ayumu’s heart leapt into his throat, although he could think of no reason offhand that would cause Yannic to speak to him. But perhaps—perhaps his master had complained privately? Had he been behaving too familiarly? He hurried to sit across from Yannic and waited nervously while Yannic spooned the food—rice with shredded lamb and cabbage—into the bowls. Yannic handed him his and then reached into his pocket and removed a letter. He opened it, but then paused, looking at Ayumu. “Is the food not to your taste?”

With a start, Ayumu fumbled for his chopsticks and quickly ate a mouthful, choking it down his tight throat. “No, no, it is very good.” 

Yannic watched him eat a moment longer and then nodded, apparently satisfied, and returned his attention to the letter. “General Stojan Lan has written to his lordship that he will be visiting the city next week. The general was his lordship’s mentor, and they have remained on good terms.”

Ayumu had, of course, heard of Stojan Lan, who was responsible for conquering the northeastern provinces in the first years of the current emperor’s reign. 

“We must host the general and his wife for supper one evening. However…” Yannic paused, cleared his throat, and continued, “In truth, I do not know how to properly host a supper for such a distinguished guest. Since we returned, his lordship has not entertained any visitors. But I thought that you might know the correct etiquette for such an occasion.” 

So Yannic was not here to chastise him but rather to ask him for his help. “I have never attended such a formal supper among the nobility,” Ayumu admitted. “However, some of the princes would occasionally entertain in more… casual surroundings and would bring slaves from the harem to dance or play music. I should be able to make a good guess at what a proper menu would be like and how to set the table. Of course, if the master wishes it, I can play my zither as well.”

“I would appreciate your help, thank you.” A wry smile twisted Yannic’s mouth as he tucked the letter away. “I’m afraid my lieutenancy prepared me poorly for a position as a steward.”

Ayumu ventured a personal question, “You were a lieutenant, then, under his lordship?”

Yannic nodded. “I was in charge of a squadron of light cavalry—auxiliary troops, so they could be a handful.”

Ayumu had no idea what an auxiliary troop was or what might make them particularly rambunctious. Perhaps his confusion showed on his face, for Yannic continued, “The auxiliaries are recruited from our more recently conquered territories. Fifteen years of service gets them their citizenship status and a grant of land. We usually got drafts from the eastern islands, and most of them had never ridden a horse in their life.”

“I see. His lordship seems fond of horses.”

“Yes—his family raised them. The best of their stock used to supply the personal guard of the emperor.”

“But no longer?”

“As I understand it, after his paternal grandfather died, the business declined. His lordship’s mother, you know, was an accomplished warrior herself. She served under Stojan Lan—that’s how the general became his lordship’s mentor. Anyway, there was never any question but that his lordship was going to follow in her footsteps and wouldn’t take up the family business. And as his parents did not have any other children....” Yannic ended with a shrug. 

“And yourself?”

Yannic shrugged again. “My family were farmers, but my older brothers stood to inherit, so I joined the army as soon as I was old enough. It would have been—ah, twenty years, this spring.”

“A long time,” Ayumu said, rather inanely, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this—Yannic sitting down to dinner with him and having a conversation. He had gotten the impression that… well, that Yannic did not care to be in the company of a person such as himself.

Silence fell, and Ayumu felt increasingly awkward, although Yannic seemed unperturbed, eating his meal steadily. When Yannic finished, he set his empty bowl aside and put his hands on his knees, bowing. “Thank you again for offering your assistance.”

Ayumu flushed, putting down his own bowl, and bowing as well. “Of course, sir. I—this slave is happy to be of use.”

“You may call me by my name,” Yannic said. 

“Oh.” He twisted his hands in his lap. Sometimes… sometimes his guests had wanted him to call them by their names, to play at being lovers. But surely this was not all a prelude to Yannic… to Yannic demanding that he—

“Otherwise I might mistake you for one of my archers and order you into battle,” Yannic added in a dry voice. 

Relief rushed through him, and he nodded. “I will, then.” As Yannic piled the dishes together on the tray, he moved to a new subject—namely his master and Ayumu’s intent to care more assiduously for his injured leg.

“If you can get him to agree to it, by all means, do so,” Yannic said. “He can be damned stubborn, and I… well, I probably have not been as strict with him as I should have been when it comes to his leg.” He sighed, gaze going distant. “Perhaps I, too, wanted to deny how bad it is and hold out a bit of hope that one day, he might be able to return to his position. It has been hard to see him brought so low, and I cannot deny that I miss it, too. Our old lives, I mean.” 

After Yannic left, Ayumu went to sit by the window. Dark clouds were building in the west, and the sun would soon disappear behind them. He heard a rumble of thunder in the distance. Pushing aside the screen, he took a deep breath.

Did he miss his old life? 

Some things, yes. He missed having other omegas to talk to and share jokes and gossip. He had to admit that he also missed the luxuries of the palace baths and gardens. Of course, he missed being able to see Yukiko more frequently. 

But although the sex had often been pleasurable, not every guest he entertained had been pleasant, and in recent years, as he grew older, they had been less concerned with treating him nicely and often got rough. Although at first he had been dismayed that Katlego had no interest in his body, it was coming to feel more and more of a relief, knowing that he would not be pawed at or told to get on his knees. 

In fact, he had been enjoying himself, these last few days. He had been experimenting with some new compositions on his zither. He liked going out into the city and buying new clothes and ornaments (which Katlego always let him choose himself—still a novelty after years of simply accepting whatever he was handed). He also had fun convincing his master to buy a little something for himself as well, whether it was a new hat or a painted scroll for his room. Katlego always looked very grumpy about it at first, as though it were somehow embarrassing for a former commander of the emperor’s soldiers to be interested in the new fashions or to want a pretty picture for his wall. 

Of course, Yannic had had a choice. He had chosen to give up his lieutenancy and follow his lordship, whereas Ayumu had been given away, like an old pair of shoes that were worn but still serviceable. 

But no—it would do him no good to think resentfully like that. Katlego did not treat him like second-hand goods. Although he still sometimes seemed unsure what to do with or say to Ayumu, he had never turned him away when Ayumu came to his rooms. He listened to his music and they read together and talked. And today… Ayumu looked down at his hands, remembering how Katlego’s sword-calloused palm had felt. Today, he had let Ayumu comfort him while he cried. 

No, he would not want to go back to his old life.

*

By suppertime, his master was awake, and Ayumu sat with him while he ate some chicken and mushroom soup. He was pale and subdued, still groggy from the tonic. 

“Try a little more,” Ayumu coaxed, ladling some more hot soup into his bowl. 

His master stared down at it, not moving to pick up his spoon. “I’m not… like that, usually,” he muttered.

“Master?”

“Crying and… and being so… dramatic.”

Ah, well, he was not surprised that his master felt embarrassed. He imagined that in the army, soldiers generally tried to speak lightly about wounds and other hurts. Still, “It is not always a bad thing, to cry. I…” He paused and tried to keep his voice from shaking as he continued, “I have cried some nights since… since my last heat and what happened.”

Katlego sucked in a breath. He didn’t speak or look at Ayumu, but he fumbled for his hand and squeezed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that Ayumu's zither is something like the seven-stringed guqin as opposed to the 20+ string guzheng. Some guqin music: [Last Dance](https://youtu.be/PDLL8OG1cJA) and [A Grieved Life in Changmen Palace](https://youtu.be/NujQUzQ5rL0)
> 
> I was, though, also tempted by one like a hammered dulcimer, [like so](https://youtu.be/-PoNo84BYoo)
> 
> Also, a note on their ages: Ayumu is in his late 30s, but has the sort of dark hair that starts getting gray in it by that age. Katlego is in his mid-to-late 20s. So about a ten to twelve years or so age difference between them.


	7. Chapter 7

Ayumu dressed plainly the next morning, as he told his master he would, and wore his large-brimmed hat to keep off the sun. Halfway to the palace, he stopped at a bakery to buy some sweet buns filled with baked cottage cheese and jam, and then hurried on. He had never gone this long without seeing Yukiko, and although he was sure Boyana would write should something happen, he still worried. 

When he got to the kitchens, though, he found Yukiko sitting at Boyana’s side, helping to shell walnuts. Yukiko saw him first, and her eyes got big, but then she burst into tears and turned away from him, grabbing Boyana’s arm.

“Yukiko, what’s wrong?” he asked, sinking down next to her. He touched her shoulder, but she only cried harder.

“Now, now, is that any way to behave when your papa comes to visit?” Boyana said to Yukiko, trying to detach her clinging fingers. 

“But papa forgot about me!” Yukiko sniffed and looked at him at last. “You didn’t come see me for days and days and days! And Isha taught me how to jump rope, and I wanted to show you, and you weren’t here.”

“I’m sorry, little one,” he said, his heart aching. “I wanted to come and see you. But do you remember how I told you that I had to go live in a house on the other side of the city? It’s too far for me to visit every day.”

Yukiko rubbed her eyes and slowly slid off the bench she was sitting on, letting him gather her up and hold her in his lap. He smoothed down her hair and kissed her forehead, hugging her close. 

“I want you to live here, papa,” she said in a small voice.

“I can’t, Yukiko. I have a new master now, that I belong to. I have to live in his house, not here.”

Yukiko huddled closer, hiding her face against his chest. “I want you here,” she sobbed.

“I know, and I’m sorry, little one; I’m sorry. But we’re lucky that I can visit at all. Some masters wouldn’t let their slaves out of the house.” 

Yukiko sniffed. “Like how Boyana says I can’t leave the kitchens and the yard?”

“That’s right. You’re being good for her, aren’t you? You haven’t been going where you aren’t supposed to?”

“I’ve been good,” Yukiko said, pouting. 

Ayumu reached for the bag of pastries. “I brought a treat for good girls.” 

“She’s been pining for you, and that’s a fact. No matter how often I told her that you’d come visit as soon as you could,” Boyana said as Yukiko ate her sweet bun and licked jam off her fingers. 

“I’ll try to come more often, but…” he trailed off into silence.

“Have you told him that you have her?”

Ayumu shook his head. He had considered it, but the risks were high. The knowledge that he had a daughter whom he loved could so easily be used against him. The threat of never being allowed to visit her again would be enough to make him do so many things. Of course, now that he knew his master better, he did not really believe Katlego would ever do that to him. And yet... a sliver of doubt remained. 

He also could not forget what had happened to Nafula. Ayumu was certainly not the first harem slave to bear a child, and Nafula had given birth to a boy. Some years later, she had attracted the attentions and love of an alpha prince. The prince had bought Nafula and made her one of his concubines—a high-ranked position in his household. But he had refused to allow her to have anything more to do with her child, who was not of his blood. 

Of course, Katlego was a beta and unlikely to have such strong possessive instincts as an alpha. But nevertheless, Ayumu could not be certain how he would react to the information that Ayumu had been bred and had a child. Might he, perhaps, think it shameful? Would the affection in his eyes turn to pity or, worse, disgust? 

Boyana understood these things, for she nodded, her eyes sad and tired. 

He closed his eyes and cuddled Yukiko, breathing her sweet, childish scent. She endured this briefly and then squirmed off his lap, running to get her jumping rope. He followed her into the yard so he could watch, and then they played a little with the paper ball he had brought her the last time he visited. But when it was time for him to go, she cried again and clung to him. 

“Yukiko, please, you have to let go. I promise I’ll be back to visit you soon.”

She shrieked and cried harder, shaking her head. “Papa, don’t leave. Don’t leave!” 

“I have to go, Yukiko. Can you be a brave girl for me and bear it quietly?”

But she kept crying, and finally Boyana had to physically pry her away from him and hold her as she struggled and sobbed. He had to leave them like that, wretched as it made him feel. Staying and trying to comfort Yukiko would only make it worse. 

The pain of it stayed with him, though, and he knew that if he went straight back to the house, his master would immediately be able to tell something was wrong and might demand an explanation. So he took a slight detour to give him some more time to compose himself, turning to walk along the riverbank. Fishing boats darted across the channel, and men were poling a long, narrow barge upstream, its deck piled with bales of wool. Stopping by a low stone wall, he sat down, looking across the water at the far bank. A number of potters’ workshops were located there, and woodworkers too. Every day artisans who lived in the capital took ferries across the river to work, returning in the evening. And beyond that, he could see the nearest farms and orchards, neat rows of crops fading into the hazy horizon. 

A pleasant breeze came off the river, cooling the warm, humid air. The pungent odor of mud drifted from the shore, and he watched some ragged children splashing about in the shallows. He’d spent his childhood the same way, clambering about the river banks and slipping into the water for a swim on hot summer days. He’d hunted for driftwood too, in the winter when there wasn’t enough fuel for the stove, and tried to catch fish when he hadn’t gotten enough to eat. The bolder children stole fish off the boats, but Ayumu had always been too afraid of getting caught. Stealing earned you a beating with a heavy rope or, if you were caught more than once, they might cut off a finger or two. 

And then he’d been whisked away into the palace and hadn’t seen the river again for years and years. Impulsively, he decided to climb down the bank, taking care of the slippery mud, and dipped his fingers in the water. 

“I missed you, Annoushka,” he murmured to the river’s spirit. Perhaps he would get to attend her festival at summer’s end, when they put lighted paper lanterns and garlands of flowers into her waters. 

“I have a daughter now, you know,” he continued, watching the water part around his fingers. “She’s never met you, but I’d like to bring her here one day. She would enjoy playing in your waters, like I did.” 

The river flowed past, unhindered, on its way to join the great waters of a sea that he had never seen.

*

“Have you ever been to the ocean, master?” Ayumu asked, fingers digging into a lump of scar tissue on Katlego’s leg. As promised, he had insisted on Katlego allowing him to massage the salve into his leg again that afternoon. Katlego was currently staring determinedly at the ceiling and concentrating on taking deep breaths. He was not going to make a disgraceful display of himself as he had yesterday. Ayumu had seemed rather subdued all afternoon since returning from his errands in the city, and Katlego hoped that he was not feeling uncomfortable in his presence after witnessing Katlego cry and complain and clutch his hand the day before. He had asked Ayumu if something untoward had happened when he was out by himself, but Ayumu had said no, and Katlego did not like to press him for an explanation. After all, Ayumu already had a surfeit of reasons for feeling a bit low—it was remarkable he was usually so even-tempered and calm, given all that had happened. 

“The ocean?” he repeated and then inhaled sharply as Ayumu found a particularly tender spot. When he could speak again, he said, “Yes, I have. I went to a city on the coast with my father a few times as a boy. When I was a lieutenant, I also took a ship to the eastern islands on military business.” 

“A ship? What it was it like?”

“Awful. I was seasick the entire time. I might still be living on the island to avoid the return trip if Mac hadn’t dragged me back onboard.” 

Ayumu laughed softly. At Katlego’s mock scowl, he said, “Forgive me—only, I wasn’t expecting you to say that. The books I’ve read always describe the sea as being very lovely.”

“I didn’t mind it when I was on the shore,” Katlego allowed. “The waves rolling onto the sand and the sound of them. But I prefer our river here and the northern lakes. And no ships—never again.”

Ayumu smiled but grew quiet again, and he asked to return to his room shortly after supper, saying he was tired. 

Katlego let him go, of course, but it made him uneasy, not being able to tell what might be wrong. The last time he hadn’t realized something was wrong, the results had been disastrous. So he called for Yannic and asked if he had noticed anything amiss.

Yannic thought a moment and then shook his head. “No, my lord. He has not said anything to me. I have been keeping a close eye on the men-at-arms, and I would swear none of them have been near him. However, I did ask him to help me prepare for the supper we’ll be offering to the general. I thought he seemed pleased to be asked, but perhaps I was wrong.”

“You asked him to help? He didn’t tell me.” 

“I thought that the expertise of someone more used to such affairs would be welcome. I have never organized a supper for a general anywhere that was not a tent on a battlefield, my lord.”

Katlego waved a hand. “Oh, the old man won’t care about any of the formalities. He’s not the sort to put much store in whether his cup is on the right side of the place setting or the left.” 

Yannic straightened his shoulders. “Nevertheless, my lord. I should like to present a proper table.”

“All right, all right. I have no intention of stopping you. Although I half wish… that is, it’s not that I don’t want the old man to visit, but perhaps not just now.” 

“He does not come to the capital often these days. I’m sure he felt he could not leave without visiting you.” 

Of course the old man wouldn’t do that. And Katlego would have felt hurt if he did. But seeing the disappointment in Stojan Lan’s face as he realized that Katlego—that Zoya’s son—would never lead a cavalry charge again was going to hurt just as badly. 

Well. There was nothing for it. He had to face him. 

It made him happy, though, that Yannic had asked Ayumu for help. Ayumu hadn’t anyone among the rest of the household that he could call a friend. And although he wasn’t sure the word could be applied to Yannic and Ayumu’s relationship yet, perhaps it would in time. 

“You know, Yannic, I think that Ayumu might enjoy a game of Queen’s Seven,” he said aloud. Personally, he didn’t have the patience for the game—it required plotting strategies many moves ahead and could take hours to finish. But he knew Yannic liked it, and he could imagine that Ayumu would be good at it—he was always so quiet and patient. 

Yannic raised his eyebrows. “I was not aware they taught Queen’s Seven to harem slaves, my lord.” 

“There’s nothing stopping _you_ from teaching him. And nothing to keep him from learning, even if he was a harem slave,” Katlego pointed out. 

Yannic flushed and looked ashamed. “Yes, my lord. I… spoke before thinking.”

“It’s easy to fall into old prejudices. I do it myself sometimes, still. But he’s intelligent and kind and deserves my— _our_ —respect.” 

At dinner the next day, Katlego asked Ayumu how the preparations for Stojan Lan’s visit were going. “Yannic told me he asked you to help.”

“Yes, master. I believe we will present a pleasing table to the general and his wife. I thought that I would play my zither. Music during supper is always enjoyable.”

“But you’ll eat supper with us, of course,” Katlego protested, confused. He had grown used to having Ayumu at his side during meals. 

Ayumu finished refilling Katlego’s wine cup and set down the small pitcher. He bowed his head and folded his hands in his lap. “This slave will do as you bid, master, but it would be… I fear the general’s wife would see it as an insult.” 

A slave seated in the same position as a wife. Of course. Katlego swallowed and poked at his food. “You’re right. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have suggested it. It would be lovely if you played your zither.”

“Of course, master,” Ayumu said smoothly. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Ayumu laid his hand on Katlego’s sleeve. “Does the general’s visit trouble you?”

“Oh. No, not really. The old man has always treated me a bit like a nephew. My mother served as a captain under him when he was on his famous campaigns—he thought her one of his best protégées. He was angry when she left the military to marry my father. So I think I represented a sort of second chance for him. For my mother, too—she wanted me to do all the things she had left unfulfilled.” 

“That seems a heavy burden for a child to carry.”

Katlego shrugged. “It didn’t feel like it at the time. I wanted to be a warrior from the first moment I held my mother’s bow. But now—” His breath hitched. 

Ayumu leaned into him a little. “I’m sure the general won’t blame you for what happened. And your mother wouldn’t have either.”

He blinked against the sting of tears in his eyes. “I know. But the fact that it wasn’t my fault doesn’t lessen the disappointment.” 

Ayumu was quiet, but Katlego liked feeling the firm weight of his body leaning against his arm and shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes, but when Ayumu finally straightened and pulled away, he promised, “I’ll be able to be at your side after the supper, master, when we move to a more informal setting.”

“Thank you,” Katlego managed and counted it a victory that at least today he had not collapsed into tears or required being dosed with a tonic to control his emotions. 

*

But on the day of Stojan Lan’s visit, Katlego laid in bed for a long time after he woke, his chest heavy. Simply summoning the energy to get out of bed seemed too great a burden, let alone managing to converse with his guests for several hours that evening. Ayumu was busy helping Yannic prepare—he was vague on the details but knew it involved napkin folding, flower arrangements, and unearthing his grandmother’s best porcelain dishes. 

Dorji finally appeared with word that Yannic had ordered him to get Katlego up and into a bath and shaved. Surrendering to the inevitable, Katlego rose, bathed, and dressed. He did not put on his best robes yet but remained in the soft, blue cotton one that he liked to wear in his rooms. His damp hair hung free—he had no doubt Ayumu would arrive to braid it later. 

As it transpired, though, he saw Ayumu sooner than that, for he arrived along with dinner. Ayumu wore plain work clothes and had his hair tied up in a messy bun.

Ayumu took in Katlego’s appearance. “You’re sulking,” he said lightly, setting out two bowls of rice and a larger bowl of dumplings. 

“I’m not,” Katlego replied, scowling and picking up his chopsticks. He poked at his rice. 

Ayumu hummed thoughtfully and sat next to him. He put two dumplings in Katlego’s bowl and took one for himself.

“I’m _not_ ,” Katlego repeated. 

“Maybe you’ll enjoy their visit more than you think. Good food, a chance to see friends, delightful music…”

Katlego chewed on a dumpling, swallowed, and poked at his rice again. “I did hear a very talented musician will be playing.”

That made Ayumu smile. “There you go, then—a lovely evening.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. “It’s the memories, more than anything,” Katlego finally said, pushing his empty bowl to the side. 

“Memories?”

“I won’t be able to help but think of them when the old man is here. Not just of my troops and fighting, but also my mother. My childhood. Those years weren’t without grief—she died when I was fourteen, and my father four years later. But I have many happy memories too. And now that things are so… changed, the memories are… harder, somehow.” 

He didn’t think he was making much sense, but Ayumu nodded. “I stopped by the river the other day and was remembering playing in it as a child. And it is hard, sometimes, to think of all the parts of one’s life that have passed and will never come again. And of how things we wish for may never happen either.”

Ayumu sounded sad and wistful, and Katlego wanted to know, suddenly, the specifics behind his words. He didn’t ask. Ayumu’s words and tone of voice had once again cast into sharp clarity the fact that he _owned_ Ayumu. If he had been a slave, he imagined he would have striven to carve out some privacy and independence for himself, no matter how limited. So he wouldn’t pry into Ayumu’s childhood or memories or take anything more than what Ayumu chose to tell him. 

*

His master looked quite fine that evening, if Ayumu did say so himself. He had directed Dorji as to which robes Katlego should wear and then had taken his time with dressing Katlego’s thick, dark hair. He put two braids on either side, starting them at the top of Katlego’s head so they lay close against his scalp and then gathering them into a longer braid with the rest of his hair. He’d cinched silver bands, inlaid with amber and garnets, onto the braid at judicious intervals. Katlego wore an ear cuff on the top of his left ear—usually silver, but after some prodding, he had admitted that he also had a gold one and had agreed to switch. 

“My father gave me this on my sixteenth birthday,” Katlego had said, holding it for a moment before handing it to Ayumu. 

Katlego insisted that he would greet Stojan Lan in the outer courtyard, even though he would have to stand and wait for the general to arrive. At first, Ayumu was afraid he would refuse to carry his walking stick, but Katlego accepted it from Dorji without a verbal protest, although he held himself stiffly, his shoulders tense. Now, as they stood outside, he could tell that Katlego was trying not to lean on it too heavily, to keep his back straight and head raised. But he couldn’t help listing a little to the side to take the pressure off his bad leg. 

Still, Ayumu could imagine him on the wall of some border fort, a straight and proud silhouette against the setting sun. He had seen his master’s sword, laid carefully in a chest—whether by Yannic or Dorji, Ayumu wasn’t sure. Although he was unfamiliar with the arts of sword fighting, he could identify the signs of wear on the hilt and the scuffs on the scabbard. In his master’s former life, it had probably been a rare day that Katlego did not handle it. He didn’t know if Katlego realized his sword was in the chest, but he was sure that his master would have refused to wear it tonight, even though there would be no shame in doing so. 

All the household was arrayed behind Katlego to welcome the general, with the exception of Eka and the kitchen boy who had been hired to handle the work Ayumu had been doing. The men-at-arms were there, wearing leather armor dyed in the colors of Katlego’s house, dark red and pure white. Ayumu had hesitated upon seeing them, his heart pounding, but Yannic had stepped to one side and gestured for Ayumu to stand between him and Dorji. 

Stojan Lan’s carriage arrived at the stroke of the seventh bell. Ayumu had to bow, but he was still able to sneak a glance at the general and his wife without raising his head. Stojan Lan was shorter than he expected—Katlego had a good two or three inches on him. The general’s hair was grey, but his braid was long, and he had a beard trimmed close to his jaw. His wife also had grey hair, and her robes were quite plain, though finely made. Ayumu was thankful he had chosen not to include orchids in the flower arrangement for the table—this woman would not approve of showy, extravagant displays. He would have to avoid playing any of his own compositions as well and stick to unassuming songs that blended into the background. He could not help the brightness of his own clothing or the makeup on his face, but such things were expected of a pleasure slave. 

Katlego was grasping the general’s hand. “Sir, it is good to see you and your wife again and welcome you to my home.”

Stojan Lan’s spoke quietly, but his voice hinted at deep emotions that underlay his words. “Zoya would be proud of you and what you achieved. As am I.”

There was a long pause, and then Katlego choked out, “Thank you, sir.” 

The general turned his attention to Yannic and Dorji, perhaps to give Katlego a moment to recover his composure. 

“So, Yannic, you decided to serve your commander here as well. Ah, and Dorji, too.” 

The admiration was plain in both men’s voices as they replied, pleased that their former general had remembered their names. 

Stojan Lan paused in front of Ayumu. “And who is this?”

Ayumu kept his head bowed. “This slave is at your service, my lord, and begs to tell you that his name is Ayumu.”

Katlego’s stick tapped on the stones as he came to join them. “The emperor gifted him to me, sir.”

“Well, I’m glad to see his majesty put some effort into awarding you for what you did at Dublar. I want to hear every detail of the battle, mind you. The news circulars were full of the usual exaggerations.” Stojan Lan turned away, his interest in Ayumu clearly at an end. 

“You will save the military talk for after supper, though,” the general’s wife said in a firm voice.

Katlego laughed. “Ah, Auntie Keiko, how do you put up with him in the house all day?”

“That man is hardly in the house—he spends all his time in the village, training the militia and young boys who want to take up the sword.” Keiko sounded exasperated but fond. “Now show me inside, Katlego. I was acquainted with your grandmother but never visited her at home, given Zoya’s dislike of living in a city.”

“Mother did hate coming back here. Father used to tease her that the only reason she married him was to have access to his family’s land in the countryside.” 

“Zoya’s talents were wasted here—all the fripperies of the court,” Stojan Lan said as they all began moving inside. “That damned emperor of ours kept me in an audience for four hours yesterday. I’d have been riding home this morning if I hadn’t been determined to see you.” 

Katlego stopped at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, and Ayumu could see how tightly he was gripping his walking stick and how he favored his leg. “You didn’t need to trouble yourself on my account, sir. I would have come to see you as soon as… well, as soon as I could.”

Keiko reached over and patted his arm. “Pay no attention to him, dear. Our rooms are booked through next week, and tomorrow he’s going to be reviewing the city guards.”

As Katlego struggled up the stairs, Ayumu had the feeling that all of them, including the general and his wife, wanted to reach out and help but were restraining themselves in respect for Katlego’s pride. He caught Stojan Lan and Keiko sharing a sorrowful glance behind Katlego’s back. It was a relief to reach the dining room where everyone could sit down. He helped with pouring wine and serving the appetizers before going to his zither, set up in a corner of the room, and beginning to strum quietly. He knew the music well enough that he could keep half an ear on the conversation. 

At first, there was some discussion of the current political situation in the court. Stojan Lan then expounded at some length on the recent revelations that the administrator of the eastern islands had been skimming money from tariff payments and using some of the proceeds to fund his own private mercenaries. He was being brought back to the capital and there was much speculation over how exactly the emperor would have him put to death or if the man would find a way to commit suicide before then.

Then, disregarding his wife’s command, Stojan Lan insisted that Katlego describe the Battle of Dublar in detail. Ayumu did not pay too much attention to the recitation—it was too full of technical details about troop movements and weaponry for him—but he did watch Katlego, mindful of how difficult it would be for him to engage in a lengthy discussion about the event that had shattered his life. Although Stojan Lan clearly saw Katlego’s physical pain, Ayumu did not think he quite grasped the extent of Katlego’s emotional turmoil. But Katlego managed well, appearing energetic and vigorously debating various tactics with the general. 

The thump of the general’s wine cup on the table brought Ayumu’s full attention back to them. The recounting of the battle had concluded, but Stojan Lan was still focused on Katlego, his brow furrowed. 

“And now you’re going to tell me why—” 

But Keiko put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “That can wait until after supper, dear. We haven’t complimented Katlego on the delicious food or the table setting. Were these your grandmother’s?” she asked, running her finger along the edge of a bowl.

Katlego nodded. “They’d been sitting in storage since she died, but I remember her setting them out whenever we had company.”

“Well, she would be happy they’re getting used.” She paused and Ayumu could feel her glance focusing on him. “And the music—I can’t recall the last time I heard the zither played so well.”

“Ayumu is very skilled,” Katlego replied, sounding proud. “He helped Yannic with planning the supper tonight, too, and making it look, uh, elegant and what not in here.” Ayumu glanced up to see his master waving a vague hand and hid a smile. 

“I believe he’s an omega?” Keiko continued in delicate tones.

Katlego must have nodded, for she continued in a smooth voice, yet heavy with implication, “An ideal choice at this time in your life.”

Ayumu concentrated very hard on the zither strings, trying to will the hot flush from his face. An omega slave would indeed be ideal for many men in Katlego’s position who were getting older but had not yet taken a marriage partner. They could father several children with the omega, ensuring their line continued, but if they should marry at some point, those children could easily be set aside in favor of a free-born heir. 

He was not sure if Katlego understood all of Keiko’s meaning, for his master said, somewhat awkwardly, “Ayumu has been a great help to me,” a statement that did nothing to refute her words. 

The topic unsettled Ayumu, and he rather wished he had not promised to sit with his master when they moved into the other room after supper. But he had, and so when the meal concluded, he obediently rose and accompanied Katlego, helping him to settle so he could have his leg stretched out. He poured wine for all of them, including himself when his master gestured that he should take a cup, and offered a plate of iced cakes. Then he knelt at Katlego’s side. 

It was only his years of training that let him do it all with an appearance of calm and to hide the shame he felt as Stojan Lan and Keiko watched him. He knew they thought he was warming Katlego’s bed, that perhaps he was already pregnant with a child. He wanted to protest that he was not simply a convenient body, that his life had changed, and that Katlego valued him for more than the services he could provide. 

But of course, he didn’t really know that, did he? He had no doubt his master enjoyed his company and valued his help, but beyond that? He watched as Keiko exchanged a few words and smiles with her husband, their easy manners speaking to many years of shared affection and respect. He did not have such a relationship with his master. Could not have such a relationship. He made himself take a sip of his wine, staring at the floor.

Stojan Lan tapped the side of his cup. “Provided my wife permits it, I am going to return to the subject that concerns me most. Namely, why you’re still sitting about this house when winter is long past. Your mother—” He stopped and cleared his throat, continuing in a gruff voice, “I made a promise to Zoya to always look after you. And the boy I raised into a fine commander would never have wanted to be stuck in this damned city the rest of his life.” 

Katlego tensed. “The boy you raised is gone… sir.”

Ayumu touched his elbow, keeping his fingers there and exerting a light pressure. Katlego relaxed a fraction.

Stojan Lan bristled, but Keiko interjected in a calm voice, “I don’t wonder Katlego has needed several months to recover from his injury, Stojan. And there is no need to go rushing into anything.”

“I’m not saying that he needs to rush into anything,” the general protested. “But planning it out would give him something to do—keep him occupied.”

“Planning what exactly, sir?” Katlego bit out, shifting restlessly and rubbing at his sore leg.

Stojan Lan blinked. “Returning to your family’s country estate, of course. Don’t tell me you hadn’t considered it. Zoya loved it there, and even that father of yours—well, he bred fine horses, I’ll give him that. And you have a way with horses, too, lad—always did. It’s the perfect occupation for you.”

Katlego’s breathing picked up, and his hand clenched into a fist. “Perhaps it escaped your notice, sir, but I can no longer _ride a horse_.”

Keiko looked contrite, but Stojan Lan only huffed. “Now there’s some of that fire I expect from you, lad. You don’t need to ride horses to raise them. And the country air will be good for you. Besides, if you don’t put some work into the estate, it will go to ruin. We passed by there last year, and the house was looking quite run down.” 

The general and Keiko kept talking, Katlego thrumming with a miserable, furious energy, but Ayumu lost the thread of the conversation, unable to concentrate through the rushing in his ears, the quickened beat of his heart. 

A country estate. 

Of course his master would still own his family’s land. Yannic had mentioned they had raised horses. But Ayumu hadn’t thought, hadn’t realized the consequences of this. 

If his master should decide to go live there, to leave the city…. Well, he would bring Ayumu with him. Ayumu would have no choice but to go. And he would have to leave Yukiko behind. Never mind only being able to visit once or twice in a month—he might never be able to see her again.

And if he should tell his master… if he should beg him not to separate them, beg him to buy Yukiko too… what then? He wanted to trust Katlego—desperately wanted to trust him. But sitting there, the casualness with which the general and his wife had consigned him to nothing more than a warm body to bear children still fresh in his mind, he could not help the terror that swept over him at the thought of placing himself and his daughter at his master’s mercy. 

But if the choice was to abandon Yukiko without even trying to keep her with him or telling his master and risking destroying the tolerable, often pleasant life he had been building… well, there was no choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to get the next chapter out in the usual amount of time, but my brainpower is a bit depleted at the moment. I live in California and we've been dealing with a record heat wave and now massive wildfires. Being confined to my apartment due to the pandemic was bad enough, but not even being able to go out for a walk because of the heat and horrible air quality is even worse. It's been tough to stay positive and I've been lacking energy, so if the next update takes a bit longer, that's why.


	8. Chapter 8

Five years. Katlego hadn’t been to his family’s estate in five years. And even then, it had only been a short visit to sign some necessary paperwork at the request of the agent he had put in charge of managing everything in his absence. The village trundled along as it had always done, and there had been no troubles with taxes or levies thanks to a run of good harvests. But the house itself had been shut up since his father died.

He had imagined, vaguely, that he would return to live there when he retired from the military. But that had been a far off future. And now retirement had been forced upon him, and the old man was suggesting that he go back and take up raising horses, live a calm, staid country life as though nothing had happened, when he had once commanded hundreds of men, had fought and distinguished himself in battle. 

The thought of seeing the empty, shuttered rooms, of visiting his parents’ _graves_ ….

Although Keiko had steered the conversation to more innocuous topics, she and the general did not linger too long. They parted with promises to visit again soon, and Katlego choked down his frustration and distress to manage a civil farewell. It _had_ been good to see the old man again, but he still thought he could command Katlego’s life, that he knew what was best. But he didn’t understand—couldn’t know how Katlego was feeling. 

“I might want to stay here in the city,” he said aloud to Ayumu, who was with him in his chamber helping take down Katlego’s hair. “The old man didn’t even do me the courtesy of asking what I thought about it before ordering me off to the country.”

“You should do as you like, master, of course,” Ayumu murmured. 

That wasn’t quite the response he was looking for, and with an uncomfortable twinge, he remembered telling Ayumu not too long ago how much he _didn’t_ like the city. 

“It just wouldn’t be the same there, that’s all. Back home, I mean,” he added feebly. 

“Yes, master.” Ayumu finished brushing his hair and quickly did it up into a loose, single braid for sleep. Then he bowed. “Will you need anything else tonight?”

“No, you may retire, if you wish.” Katlego hesitated. Ayumu seemed more... withdrawn than he had been recently. “You played beautifully tonight. And thank you, for all your help with the supper. Aunt Keiko thought it very elegant, and I did too. I… I should have said so earlier, I’m sorry.” He flushed a bit. 

But Ayumu merely said, “It was no trouble, master,” and bowed again and left the room. 

Katlego kept staring at the door after he had left, getting lost in his thoughts again. He had a sudden, clear vision of the south-facing porch back home. It stretched the length of the house, the wooden boards grayed with age, its posts carved into the shapes of tree and water spirits. On cold or wet days, screens could be erected to provide more shelter and fires lit in braziers. Many an afternoon he had spent there with his mother, learning sword forms and practicing the draw of his bow. But now he found himself picturing Ayumu kneeling there, playing his zither, while he sat by him, listening and smelling the pine trees and the warm, sweet grass. Yannic might step out to consult with him on a household matter and pause at the railing, raising a hand to Dorji, chopping firewood in the yard below. 

That was right—if he did go back, he wouldn’t be living in an empty house alone, with only memories to keep him company. 

Over the next few days, he asked Yannic and Dorji for their opinions on the idea. 

“It would be a great deal of work and no small expense to refurbish the house and begin raising horses again, my lord” Yannic said, cautious. 

Katlego hummed and admitted he had no idea as to the business side of things, as he’d never paid much attention to what his father and grandfather had been doing while he was off learning the arts of war from his mother.

Yannic hastened to add that he would not mind the work and that he thought Ayumu would be a great help with the household matters. 

Dorji grunted that it would, “be good to work with horses again,” and that he would prefer the country to staying in the city. “Only if you want to go, though, my lord,” he added gruffly. “You’re the one as should decide.”

He had hoped that Ayumu would have some opinion on the matter, but when he asked, Ayumu only bowed and said, “You should do as you wish, master.”

“Yes, but how do you feel about it?” he pressed, impatient.

“I will go where you bid me, master.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. I won’t get angry at you for telling me what you think.”

Ayumu hunched in on himself, twisting his hands together. “I… this slave… this slave would not want you to endanger your health, master. It might be better to stay near your doctor.”

“There’ll be doctors out there too. And I wouldn’t be rash and try to re-shingle the roof or anything of that nature.” He huffed a breath, mouth twisting. “I know my limits now.”

“Of course, master. This slave did not presume—did not mean to tell you what to do. Y-you asked, and—”

Katlego held up a hand, stopping him. “I know I did. And I told you I’m not angry. I appreciate your concern for me, but I think I could manage all right.”

Ayumu nodded, looking miserable. 

“What’s wrong?” Katlego asked him gently. “I can tell you’ve been upset these last few days.”

Ayumu paled. “Nothing, master,” he gasped. 

“Has someone—has someone _hurt_ you again?” His voice rose at the very thought, and he half-started from his chair. 

But Ayumu shook his head vigorously. “No, no. Nothing is wrong, master. I’m fine. I… this slave apologizes for causing you concern.” 

That wasn’t the damn point, of course, but what could he say? Ayumu deserved to have Katlego’s concern, but the more he pushed Ayumu for answers, the more nervous Ayumu became. 

“All right,” he finally said, sighing. “But you must tell me if something _is_ wrong. Now let’s go have some supper—I’m starving.”

For the rest of the week, he found his mind toying with the idea of returning home. He started to think about rebuilding the stables, and how they might be able to solve that persistent problem with dampness and poor drainage his father had always been complaining about. He began pondering whether he would move back into his childhood bedroom or pick a different room and wondering if the painted screens his father had loved had managed to escape being chewed by mice. 

It was when he caught himself calculating the number of days it would take to travel there by carriage and which inns he’d want to stop at along the way that he had to admit the decision had been made. Dammit—the old man had been right. 

_And he’ll take every chance to remind me about it, too,_ he wrote to Mac. _But I suppose I needed a nudge to get me thinking. I couldn’t even manage to face it, at first, the question of what I was going to do, of how I wanted to spend my days. But now that I have, now that I’ve given this idea of going home a proper consideration, I realized it didn’t have to be like_ before _. I know I can’t have that, even if I want it—so very desperately, sometimes. But maybe this will be, if not perfect, if not what I would choose, at least tolerable. I want to wake up in the morning with a light heart again, looking forward to the day. And once I’ve gotten the place in shape, you can come for a visit, if you’re able to get away._

He had just finished blotting the ink when Ayumu entered, carrying a tray with some coffee, tea, and two raisin cakes. 

“Those look good,” Katlego said appreciatively, reaching for one of the cakes and taking a bite. He accepted the cup of coffee Ayumu handed him, gulped some down, and then set it down, straightening up in his chair. 

“I’ve decided,” he announced, wanting to share the news. He’d tell Yannic next, but he was… well, _excited_ and Ayumu needed to know as well. “I’m going to return home. It will give me something to do, you see, and I need that. I can’t just sit around forever. I imagine there will be some hiccups—I can’t say I have a particular head for business affairs—but it will work out, I’m sure.”

Ayumu had gone still, his head bowed, staring down at the cup of steaming tea. 

“I know we’ll miss some things that we can get here—the fancy shops and fine foods—but I think you’ll find my family’s land quite pleasant,” Katlego continued, wanting to set Ayumu’s mind at rest. “There is a small village, and the shopkeepers there can order in anything we may want. The house is large and will want some refurbishing, but it’s a fine place. There’s a lake, and green hills, and woods too—evergreens and larches and birches. It’s far enough north that we sometimes get snow, and you might find the first winter a bit of a shock, as you’re used to the climate here, but—”

He stopped abruptly, realizing that Ayumu was trembling, his breaths coming short and fast. In the next second, Ayumu dropped his cup back onto its saucer, tea sloshing over the side, and flung himself onto the floor, prostrating himself before Katlego.

“What are you doing?” Katlego asked, alarmed, beginning to reach for him, but stopping as Ayumu spoke, his words choked.

“Master… master, this slave humbly, _most_ humbly, begs you for a favor.”

“Ayumu, you don’t need to—whatever it is, there’s no need for this. You can get up.”

Ayumu did not move. “This slave has no right to ask, but… but, my _daughter_ , if you would consider purchasing her, master, that she might come with us.”

Katlego froze and then slumped back in his chair, releasing Ayumu’s arm where he had been gently and ineffectually tugging to try and get him to rise. “Your… daughter?” he repeated weakly.

Ayumu sucked in a ragged breath. “This slave was wrong to keep it from you, master. You may punish this foolish, disobedient slave as you wish. But please, please, if you might consider this one request. My master is so benevolent, so gracious, that this slave dares to ask for such a favor.” He pressed his face into the floor, shoulders shaking with his suppressed emotion. 

“Ayumu…” Katlego stopped, at a loss for words. Ayumu had a _child_ and had never told him—had never told anyone, for surely Yannic would have mentioned it, if he had known. She must be a slave in the palace still—was that where Ayumu had been going when he begged to be allowed out by himself to run an errand? 

“You never told me,” he repeated aloud, for it… it hurt, somehow. He had said to Ayumu to tell him if anything was wrong, and obviously things were very wrong—Ayumu was trembling on the floor, had hidden the fact that he had a _daughter_. If not for Katlego’s plan to move away from the city, would Ayumu have _ever_ told him?

Ayumu shuddered. “Please beat this wretched, ungrateful slave, master, for behaving so poorly.”

That jolted Katlego out of his stupor. “Beat you? What are you—no, no, I’m not going to punish you. And of course I’m not going to make you leave your daughter behind. I wish you had told me before, but you’re telling me now, and that’s good. That’s good. We’ll find a way to make this right, I promise. Come on now, get up, please. You don’t need to do this with me, Ayumu.”

He reached down again, not wanting to see Ayumu like this, so—so abject and pitiful. 

This time, Ayumu responded to his touch and rose to his knees, although he kept his eyes down and averted. 

“Now please, tell me about her and what we need to do. How old is she?”

“Four. Her… her name is Yukiko.”

“I see. And someone is looking after her for you? Is that it?”

Ayumu nodded. “A woman in the palace kitchens. Yukiko can help a little, with simple tasks. She can work here, too,” he added in a rush. “And she’ll be able to do more, as she gets older.”

“Well, let’s worry about all that later, once she’s here,” Katlego replied. Did Ayumu really think he’d refuse to take in a child unless she could prove her worth? Apparently so. “And… and what of her father?”

Ayumu flushed with shame. “A high-ranked minister who was allowed to bed me during one of my heats. But he has had nothing to do with her. There would be no trouble if you were to make an offer for her purchase.”

That was something, at least. Even if it didn’t sit well with him at all, the thought of Ayumu, weak and delirious in his heat, being offered as a reward to be… bred by some stranger. The memory of their conversation the morning after that awful night when Katlego discovered the guards assaulting Ayumu returned to him. The desperation in Ayumu’s voice, how adamant he had been that he wanted the contraceptive. 

Katlego shut his eyes a moment, feeling nauseous.

“My jewelry—from before, in the palace, and the things you’ve bought me—you can sell them,” Ayumu was continuing. “I don’t know how much the steward will ask for her, but you can take anything of mine. My… my silks and the… the zither too.” 

“I’m not going to sell your zither. Or your jewelry. It will not be a problem to buy her.” He opened his eyes and looked down at Ayumu, who still looked pale and tense. 

“Thank you, master,” Ayumu whispered, and the wretched mix of anxiety and gratitude in his voice scraped against Katlego’s conscience. 

_A child_ , he thought again, numb. _And you never told me._

The tea and coffee had gone cold by this time, and Ayumu mopped up the spilled tea with shaking hands and went to fetch fresh pots. After he left, Katlego let out a long sigh. 

Was he never going to stop committing these egregious lapses of consideration, of attention? If Ayumu had never told him—if he had taken Ayumu away, never knowing that he was forcing him to abandon his child…. 

“You’re a self-centered, oblivious fool,” he muttered to himself. 

*

_I’m not going to make you leave your daughter behind._

Ayumu repeated those words in his mind over the following, agonizing days as letters went back and forth between his master and one of the palace stewards. He knew he should feel relieved and happy, but until Yukiko was here, in his arms, he could not help imagining the worst. Perhaps the steward would refuse to sell her or would do so only for a price his master could not afford. Perhaps the steward would mistake Yukiko for a different child. Perhaps his master would grow angry after all and sell off _Ayumu_ instead.

No—no, that was being unfair to Katlego. If anything, he had seemed confused as to why Ayumu had hidden Yukiko’s existence from him. How Katlego could not comprehend what a risk he had taken, Ayumu did not know, but he was grateful for it. Katlego also seemed quite contrite, as though somehow he should have intuited the fact that Ayumu had a daughter and was now feeling guilty that his plan to return to his family’s estate would have separated them. Ayumu could not fathom this reaction either. Indeed, all of his time with Katlego was marked with similar confusion. First, the cold, abrupt dismissal that turned into regret and concern upon learning how he had been hurt. And since then, half the time he treated Ayumu as one would expect a kind master to treat a slave—appreciative of the services he provided and bestowing small rewards, but presumably not giving much thought to him when he was out of Katlego’s presence. And then other times he treated him more as a… a _friend_ and confidante. As someone whose thoughts and feelings mattered. 

Ayumu was experiencing such a moment currently, in fact, as Katlego looked up from a letter stamped with the palace’s seal and announced with a wide smile that the negotiations had been successful and that Yukiko would be arriving at the house tomorrow evening. 

Long years of training and habit told him that he should be down on his knees, thanking his master and kissing his feet, but he knew, now, that Katlego would not like it. Still, it was hard to behave differently, and his heart beat anxiously in his throat as he returned Katlego’s smile. 

“Ah, I didn’t even think to ask what you need for her!” Katlego said, his eyes widening in dismay. “Clothes—toys—I’m afraid there’s nothing in the house suitable for such a young child.” He rubbed the back of his neck, rueful. And then he laughed. “But you like shopping, don’t you? We’ll go out at once and get whatever she needs.” 

He couldn’t refuse such generosity—not when it was for Yukiko. But this, too, was jarring. His master willing to buy such things for the child of his slave—a child who was not even related to him by blood. It had been strange enough to grow used to Katlego buying presents for him and not wanting sexual favors in return. Now this, too, and Ayumu knew that there would be no demands put upon him to pay for it with his body. 

It made him feel… overwhelmed and adrift, standing there next to Katlego and looking at the pretty dolls on display and a little dog with button eyes stuffed with cotton. Hesitantly, he wrapped his hand around Katlego’s arm, lightly grasping the material of his outer robe, but when Katlego glanced at him and only smiled, he tightened his hold. 

“The dog?” Katlego asked, reaching out to tousle its soft ears. 

Ayumu nodded, unable to find words because he didn’t know what to say anymore, not to this person who wanted him to be happy. 

*

Ayumu was on edge all the next day, waiting for his daughter’s promised arrival. Katlego found that he was feeling absurdly nervous himself and could only blame the fact that he had little experience with children. Suddenly having a four-year-old girl in the house was an unexpected development. 

It had, in fact, been quite the week, what with sending missives back and forth to the palace, writing to his estate agent informing her of his plans, beginning to contemplate the daunting task of packing all his things, let alone the move itself, and holding long discussions with Yannic over the relative merits of various horse breeds. 

And now here he was, fretting over whether Yukiko would like the stuffed dog he had chosen. Maybe she liked dolls better. But Ayumu had given the dog his blessing. Katlego picked up the dog from where it was sitting in his lap. It had a remarkably soulful expression for having eyes made out of buttons.

Half an hour ago, after Ayumu had picked at his food during supper and glanced at the door every other minute, Katlego had suggested they go out into the courtyard and sit on the stairs to wait. 

“I can go by myself, master,” Ayumu had said. “You don’t have to wait with me.”

“Of course I’m coming with you. I’m excited to meet her, you know. And I have to give her this fellow, as a welcome present,” he added, picking up the stuffed toy.

He did, however, hope that Yukiko arrived soon as his leg was beginning to complain. Ayumu had been massaging it almost every afternoon, and he did think there was a small improvement, but it was not taking kindly to sitting on the stairs. Ayumu glanced at him, noticing his fidgeting, and started to say something when they both heard a knock on the street gate. A moment later it opened, and an older woman stepped through, holding a knapsack in one hand, her other clutched by a small girl. 

The little girl—Yukiko, certainly—spotted Ayumu immediately. He was already hurrying toward her, and she ran to meet him. Ayumu swept her up in his arms, hugging her close. 

“Papa, papa,” Yukiko was saying breathlessly as Katlego reached them. “Boyana says that I’m coming here to live with you.”

Ayumu tightened his hold, face pressed against her neck, scenting her. At least, Katlego presumed that was what he was doing. He had a vague memory of his father doing the same to him, once, after returning from a long business trip.

“That’s right, little one. You’re staying with me. I won’t have to leave you again,” Ayumu told her, his voice choked with emotion. 

Her eyes were just like Ayumu’s, Katlego thought, and a moment later they were trained on him, wide and curious. 

“Who is that, papa?” Yukiko asked, pointing at him. 

Ayumu turned quickly, flustered, and set her down on the ground. “This—this is our master. Kneel and thank him for letting you come live here, Yukiko.” 

“I’ve told you that’s not necessary, Ayumu,” Katlego interrupted gruffly. “My name is Katlego,” he told Yukiko. “And… and I’ve gotten you this dog.” He held out the stuffed toy.

Yukiko stared at it, then up at him, and then squeaked and hid her face in Ayumu’s robes. 

“Yukiko,” Ayumu chided, stroking her hair. “This isn’t how we behave when someone gives you a present.”

Slowly, she peeked up at Katlego again and reached out for the little dog. Once it was in her arms, though, she squeezed it and giggled. “Soft! Papa, it’s soft and fuzzy!”

“And what do you say to Katlego?” Ayumu prompted, smiling.

“Thank you,” Yukiko said and then giggled again and hid behind Ayumu. 

“She’s a bit shy at first, but she’ll warm up to you, my lord,” the woman, who Yukiko had called Boyana, said. 

Ayumu took the knapsack from her. “Boyana—I can never thank you enough for looking after Yukiko all these years.”

“I’ll miss her and that’s a fact. But she should be with her father.” Boyana smiled down at Yukiko, her eyes shiny with tears. “I’m so grateful that you can be together.” 

“It is thanks to my master’s generosity,” Ayumu said, touching Yukiko’s hair with wondering fingers, as though not quite certain yet that she was really here.

His generosity. Katlego swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “I’ll let you say your goodbyes. Come find me later, Ayumu.” Staying would only make it more awkward for Ayumu and Boyana to talk. He could tell that Ayumu was fighting the instinct to get down on his knees every other minute, and he was sure Boyana was restraining herself for propriety’s sake in his presence. 

Yukiko peeked out at him again as he turned to go. He waved, and she giggled again and hid her face once more—this time in the velvety fur of her stuffed dog. At least she was laughing and not crying. He supposed he better count his victories where he could. 

He went to his rooms and tried to read, but after about an hour, he couldn’t help but go to Ayumu’s room to see how Yukiko was settling in. He knocked, and Ayumu called for him to enter. 

Yukiko was in the bed, and it looked like they had just come from the bath, for her hair was still a bit damp. A plate covered with crumbs and an empty cup spoke to a nighttime snack. 

“She’s so excited, I’m having a hard time getting her to sleep,” Ayumu explained, apologetic. “Did you need my help with something, master?”

“No—I only wanted to see how the two of you were getting on. Don’t worry about attending me tonight.” He hesitated. “Do you mind if I—”

“Oh, no, of course, please sit down,” Ayumu exclaimed, jumping up and removing some clothes from the chair. Katlego sat, stretching out his leg with a sigh. He was pleased to note that Yukiko was holding onto the stuffed dog again. 

“Have you given him a name?” he asked her, pointing at the toy, and she nodded.

“Paws,” she said gravely.

“I see. Well, he does have four of them, doesn’t he?”

Ayumu sat down on the bed again and said, “Do you want to tell Katlego what you were telling me? About what you saw on the way here?”

Yukiko nodded and launched into an excited tale about her walk through the city. Frankly, Katlego was lost after the first few words and had trouble understanding what she was saying, but he did his best to nod and make inquiring noises at intervals. 

“And then it went ‘boom’!” Yukiko concluded, throwing Paws into the air and flopping down on her back. Katlego had no idea what had gone boom or why but proclaimed, “Goodness! That was quite something, wasn’t it?”

Ayumu snagged Paws with an adroit maneuver and tucked him next to Yukiko, drawing the blanket over them both. “And now it’s time to try and sleep, little one. Do you want me to sing you a song?”

“Yes, papa,” Yukiko said, snuggling into the pillow. 

“That’s my cue, I think. Good night, Yukiko,” Katlego told her. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“And papa,” Yukiko added in a firm voice. “I get to see papa _every_ day now. For always.”

“That’s right, my little one,” Ayumu murmured, his voice thick, and he leaned over to kiss her forehead. 

Katlego moved to the door, but paused, listening as Ayumu began to sing a lullaby. 

_When summer came, the summer green,  
The grass grew long and high,  
I went and caught a silver fish,  
But let it go, to make a wish,  
That my love, home, to me would come…_

_When autumn came, the autumn gold,  
And grain fell to the scythe,  
I went and caught a silver fish,  
But let it go, to make a wish,  
That my love, home, to me would come…_

_When winter came, the winter gray,  
Rain fell on woods and fields,  
I went and caught a silver fish,  
But let it go, to make a wish,  
That my love, home, to me would come…_

_When springtime came, the springtime blue,  
And blossoms filled the trees,  
I went and caught a silver fish,  
But let it go, to make a wish,  
And my love, home, to me did come…_

He closed the door quietly behind him and stepped a few paces toward the open side of the hallway that looked out into the courtyard. The moon was almost full, and its light flooded the yard, leaving only the corners in ink-black shadow. He could hear the leaves of the apricot tree rustling in the breeze, and he took a deep breath of the warm, humid summer air. 

A few minutes later, the door slid open again and Ayumu stepped out. He noticed Katlego and came over. 

“Shall I comb your hair for you now, master?” Ayumu asked. 

“All right,” he allowed, because although he’d meant his earlier words that it wasn’t necessary tonight, he had in truth grown accustomed to the soothing routine before bed.

They walked slowly down the corridor to his bedroom, and once inside, Ayumu turned up the lamp. But then he stayed there, facing the wall, and suddenly a sob burst out of him. 

Alarmed, Katlego put a hand on his shoulder. “What is it? Is Yukiko—”

He stopped, for Ayumu had turned and pressed his face into Katlego’s chest as more sobs wracked his slender frame. 

Katlego stood stiffly for a moment and then put his arms around Ayumu. 

“She’s safe,” Ayumu gasped. “She’s… she’s here with me. I—I—”

“I’m sorry. Sorry that you had to be apart for so long,” he whispered and stroked a hand over Ayumu’s hair, his heart aching. 

Ayumu shook his head, still crying. “She’s here,” he repeated and curled an arm under and around Katlego’s shoulder, holding him in turn. 

Ayumu was warm in his arms, and he could feel every breath and sob that shook him. His nearness, his distress—it echoed in Katlego, and he knew that he could not let this happen again. He couldn’t stand it—to keep discovering how badly Ayumu had been hurt only after the fact, after it was too late to erase his pain and fear. He wanted… he wanted Ayumu in his arms like this, but smiling and happy. He wanted Ayumu to trust him, to come talk to him about anything, anything at all. And he wanted to do the same. To be held like this again. To spill his feelings and thoughts and have them meet Ayumu’s gentle smile and kind eyes. 

His heart had already broken once this year, after all. He didn’t think he could manage a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So from poetry, we've moved on to my attempt at a lullaby/folksong. I composed a melody for it too, which you can listen to me sing [here](https://youtu.be/y_PBbQPZT3Y) . (Do not expect great things--my talents lie in writing, not singing, but at least this gives an idea of what I imagine it sounds like).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer than usual wait. I was on a much needed vacation!

“Papa. _Papa_.”

Ayumu woke to Yukiko’s voice and her small hand tugging on his shirt. He could tell it was earlier than he usually arose, the sun’s light thin and sharp where it crept through the window screen. 

Yukiko was sitting up next to him, sticking her lower lip out in a pout. 

He smiled, reaching out to touch her, relief and happiness flooding him once again at having her here with him. “Good morning, Yukiko. Do you want breakfast? Are you hungry?” 

She nodded, fidgeting. “And the privy.” 

He pushed himself up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “All right. Go put on your robe.” 

It took longer than he had expected to get Yukiko washed and dressed, her hair combed and braided. She put up a fuss about wearing her shoes and kept clinging to him, putting her arms around his neck and refusing to let go. He understood why—she wanted attention and was afraid that he would leave her again. But he needed to dress and bathe as well and be ready by the time his master expected him. 

He had known that it would be challenging to have her here. Except for the first few months after she was born, he had never had the responsibility of caring for her all the time. Boyana had taken over most of her care once Yukiko had been shuffled off to the kitchens. And now he wanted to look after her—had always wanted to—but she was still so little. She was used to running around the kitchens and yard at the palace. But when it was time to attend Katlego, he was going to have to leave her here in his room and trust that she behaved and stayed quiet. 

“Do you need help, Yukiko?” he asked her as they sat to eat breakfast, and Yukiko raised a dripping spoonful of porridge from her bowl.

“No!” she said, determined, and Ayumu swallowed back an exasperated noise as porridge spilled all down the front of her clothes. 

“You need to wear a napkin, little one,” he chided, tucking one under her chin. 

There wasn’t time to wash her off after the meal—he had to settle for sponging the worst of the spills off her clothes. But her eyes lit up when he asked if she wanted to help him with his hair and makeup. 

“Pick out the hairpins I should wear today, please,” he said, handing her his wooden jewelry box. She looked through them, her eyes wide, while he braided his hair. 

She held out two mismatched pins in her chubby fists. “I want to wear some too, Papa.”

“When you’re older,” he promised. “You’re too little for hairpins yet. And you have the pretty silk ribbon that Boyana gave you. But you can have a dab of perfume.”

Yukiko sat very still while he took the stopper out of the glass vial and put a drop on her wrist. “Rub your wrists together,” he told her. “Now, can you hand me the brushes for my face powder?”

She nodded and after, when he told her what a good job she had done, she grinned and wriggled around, pleased.

“Now, Yukiko,” he said, growing solemn. “I have to go attend to my master for a few hours. And I need you to be very good. You need to stay in this room and play quietly by yourself. You have Paws and your paper ball to play with.” He fetched the toy dog from the bed and brought it over.

Yukiko took Paws, but her eyes welled with tears. “Papa, I want to stay with you,” she protested and latched onto his sleeve. 

“I know, little one, but you can’t.” He knelt in front of her and met her eyes, trying to convey the absolute seriousness of his words. “The only way you can stay here with me is if you’re well behaved. We can’t bother the rest of the household, especially not his lordship. Do you understand?”

Yukiko sniffed and nodded. 

“Good girl.” He kissed the top of her head and tugged gently on her braid. “We can play together later today, all right?”

She nodded again, but sat there, hugging Paws and watching him with sad eyes as he left. After he shut the door, he leaned his forehead against it a moment, closing his eyes. He reminded himself that the important thing was that she was here with him. They would learn to manage everything else.

Katlego was already drinking his morning coffee when Ayumu arrived, and he felt a twinge of guilt and anxiety. Yannic or Dorji must have brought it—they would know that he was falling behind in his usual duties. 

“Ayumu,” Katlego said, looking up and smiling. But then his eyes drifted past Ayumu, and he frowned. “Where is Yukiko?”

“She is in my room, master,” he replied cautiously, caught off guard by the question.

“By herself? Surely she is too young to leave alone.” 

This was true, but he did not understand what Katlego wished to achieve by mentioning the fact. The idea of hiring a nanny to look after a slave’s child was… it was _absurd_ , but—

“You should bring her with you,” Katlego announced. “I don’t mind having her here.”

“Y-yes, master. Thank you,” he managed and stumbled back into the hallway. He wasn’t about to turn down such an offer, but the shock of it was great. _This always happens. You know he is always like this. Always… unexpected._

Yukiko had gotten back into his jewelry box, he found upon returning to his room. She gave a guilty start and then ran over to him and clung to his leg. “Papa!” 

He gathered her and Paws into his arms, deciding to reprimand her later. “Our master has generously said that you can come with me. Can you be a good girl and do as I say while we’re with him?”

“Yes, papa. I’ll be good,” she promised, burrowing against his chest. 

“There she is! And Paws too,” Katlego exclaimed when they returned. Yukiko stared at him, eyes wide, and then squeaked and hid her face against Ayumu again. 

“Still shy?” Katlego said, sounding amused and perhaps a bit disappointed. 

Ayumu set her down and gave her a little nudge. “Say good morning to his lordship, Yukiko.”

“Oh, don’t make her. I’m a stranger still, after all. But I hope we can become friends, Yukiko. What do you like to do? Do you have a favorite game?” 

Yukiko didn’t answer, eyes fixed on the floor, and so Katlego repeated the question to Ayumu. 

“I… don’t know what her favorite game is,” he admitted. “But the last time I was at the palace, she showed me how she could skip rope.” 

“Isha taught me,” Yukiko mumbled.

“Is that your friend?” Katlego asked.

Yukiko nodded. “But now I live here, and it’s far away. From Isha _and_ Boyana. But I wanted to live with my papa!”

“Of course you did. Well, I can’t skip rope, but I do play knucklebones.”

“What’s that?” Yukiko asked, drifting a little closer and letting go of Ayumu’s pant leg. 

“I’ll show you after Ayumu braids my hair.” 

“Do you get to wear hairpins? I wanted to, but Papa said I’m too little.” 

Ayumu, who had been gathering the brush and comb, held his breath, hoping his master wasn’t offended. 

But Katlego just chuckled. “Ah, well, no I don’t wear hairpins. But I’ll tell you what—when you’re old enough, we’ll go pick out a set especially for you. How does that sound?”

This promise was enough to overcome any lingering shyness Yukiko might have felt toward him. In short order, Katlego had dug out a bag of knucklebones, and they had all gone out onto the porch.

“Your leg,” Ayumu protested as Katlego stiffly lowered himself to the floor. 

“I’ll be fine for a little bit,” Katlego said, spilling the bones out of the bag. Yukiko plopped down next to him, crossing her legs and holding Paws in her lap. With a sigh, Ayumu knelt beside her. 

“The trick is to do the same thing the other person does,” Katlego explained and proceeded to deftly toss three of the bones in the air and catch them on the back of his hand.

Yukiko bounced up and down, eager. “I want to try!” 

Ayumu was given Paws to hold while Yukiko tried and failed to repeat the trick. 

“I’m sure his lordship practiced for a long time before he could do it,” Ayumu told her, seeing the beginnings of a pout on her face.

Katlego laughed. “I did. Why don’t you try this one instead?” He threw one of the bones high in the air and scooped up three of the ones on the ground before catching the first one. 

“Try just grabbing two, though,” Ayumu suggested. “Your hands are a little small for three.”

After four tries, Yukiko succeeded, and he and Katlego clapped. 

“Now you, Papa,” Yukiko said, pushing the bones toward him. 

Ayumu frowned down at the bones. An omega of his refined training had no business playing _knucklebones_. 

“Come on, give it a go,” Katlego urged, grinning. 

Reluctantly, Ayumu gave Paws back to Yukiko and picked up the bones. He threw three in the air and tried to catch them on the back of his hand, like Katlego’s first trick. He got one but missed the others. He tried again, with the same result. 

Well. This was just annoying. “You play, Yukiko,” he said, bristling a little when Katlego laughed. 

He didn’t mind simply watching, though. He was greedy for it, in fact—every expression on Yukiko’s face, how she spoke and moved. And knowing that he would not have to leave her soon—that he would be able to have this every day—eased an old, hollow ache. 

Still, Katlego needed to be mindful of his leg, and after a while, when he observed a grimace crossing Katlego’s face when he moved, Ayumu insisted that they stop and go back inside. 

“Have you ever heard your papa play his zither, Yukiko?” Katlego asked, and Yukiko shook her head. 

He had, actually, played for her when she was a baby, and he was trying to get her to settle, but of course she wouldn’t remember. So he tuned the zither and got Yukiko to sit properly on a cushion, and then strummed several songs to a more avid audience than usual. He had grown accustomed to playing while his master read or wrote letters, leaving him free to pursue whatever melodies he desired. But today Katlego watched him as well, and the both of them clapped when he finished. 

“Isn’t your papa a wonderful musician?” Katlego said to Yukiko.

“Papa is the _best_!” she declared—and then wanted to try playing the zither herself. 

“It’s too big for you,” Ayumu told her, but nonetheless let her sit in his lap and pluck at the strings for a few minutes. 

She stayed with them through the midday meal, but in the afternoon, he could see she was getting tired. 

“Yukiko, I think it’s time for your nap,” he suggested. 

She pouted and said loudly, “No, Papa.”

“Yukiko,” he warned. 

“No!” she shouted and then burst into tears. 

“Yukiko, stop this,” he scolded, flushing, aware of Katlego watching them. 

She did not stop and squirmed away from him when he tried to pick her up. 

“If you don’t behave, you’ll have to stay in my room,” he told her, raising his voice over her sobs. 

That only brought another reaction as she flung herself at him and latched on, crying harder and begging him not to leave. 

“No one’s leaving you,” Katlego interjected. “After your nap, you can come back here.”

“ _If_ you behave,” Ayumu added. This time, he was able to hoist her into his arms. “I’ll try to get her settled down, master,” he told Katlego and then escaped from the room. 

It took a while, and many reassurances that he would still be here when she woke, but finally Yukiko fell asleep. She looked so small in his bed, her face still red from crying, clutching Paws. Ayumu smoothed down the blanket and then sat there a moment, catching his breath. He needed to go massage Katlego’s leg, though. Now would be the best time, when Yukiko was sleeping. Although Katlego had been unexpectedly accommodating of her, he doubted his master would want Yukiko on hand for this. 

“She’s asleep?” Katlego asked when Ayumu returned.

“Yes, master. I thought now would be a good time for your massage.” 

Katlego huffed a sigh but nodded and went to lay down on his bed. “She’s energetic, isn’t she?” he commented.

Ayumu ducked his head. “I’m sorry, master. I can try to get her to be quieter and sit calmly.”

Katlego frowned, levering himself back up on his elbows. “That isn’t what I meant. I like it. I’m glad that she’s warmed up to me.” He hesitated. “Have I… have I been all right with her?”

“Of course, master,” Ayumu said, surprised. 

“Well, I haven’t much experience with children, you see. I’m not quite sure how to act with her.”

He spread Katlego’s robe carefully, tucking it around his thigh. As he scooped up some of the medicinal salve onto his fingers, he confessed quietly, “I’m not sure, either. I haven’t been able to spend much time with her. Boyana has really been the one raising her.”

Katlego reached down and touched his wrist, a small smile on his face. “We’ll learn together then, won’t we?” 

Ayumu didn’t answer, beginning to massage the salve into Katlego’s thigh. After a moment, Katlego lied down again. Ayumu could hear the hitches in his breath whenever his fingers hit a sore area. 

Katlego’s words had made him feel… well, he wasn’t quite sure. They implied his master wanted to spend more time with Yukiko. That today was not an aberration but rather the expected course of events moving forward. But that wasn’t at all how it should be. Ayumu was a slave. Yukiko was a slave. His master was treating her almost as though she was his own daughter.

And of course— _of course_ —Ayumu preferred that to neglect or abuse. He would never not be grateful that his master had allowed him to have Yukiko with him. But Yukiko was _his_ daughter. Not Katlego’s. 

But his master did not have children of his own, and, given his disinterest in sex, it seemed unlikely that he would. It was certainly not unheard of for a man to formally free and adopt the children of a slave, although usually the children were his own blood. Is that what Katlego intended with Yukiko? And if he did, what would that mean for Ayumu? He had a sudden, horrible vision of Katlego adopting Yukiko as his own and shuffling Ayumu off to the side, still a slave. Yukiko could give him orders, would learn to disregard him, to treat him as one deserving her pity instead of her love. 

“Ah! That—that’s a bit too hard, Ayumu.”

His master’s voice brought him back to his senses, and he realized he was digging his fingers far too harshly into Katlego’s knee. 

“Forgive me, master,” he murmured, lightening the pressure and taking a deep breath. This was all useless speculation. He should simply be grateful that things were going as well as they were. 

And… and if Katlego ever did want to adopt Yukiko, he should be thankful for the opportunities it would give to her and not think selfishly of his own feelings. 

When Yukiko woke from her nap, she immediately threw another fit because Ayumu wasn’t there. He rushed in at the sound of her cries, but it took a long time to get her to calm down. His hair was in disarray and his robes askew thanks to her flailing hands and clutching fingers. He could only pray that this sort of behavior would diminish once Yukiko truly believed that she was going to stay here permanently. 

Still, there was nothing for it but to return to Katlego’s rooms, even though it pained him to appear in such a disheveled state. It reminded him of those awful weeks when he had been no better than a kitchen drudge.

But Katlego only had a smile for them, gave Yukiko a piece of candy, and suggested going to visit the horses in their stable. 

“Up, Papa! Up!” Yukiko demanded when they reached the stalls, and the horses came over to see if any treats were on offer. Ayumu lifted her in his arms, and she reached out to touch the horse’s velvety nose, giggling when it huffed a breath of air at her. 

“When we go to the country, we’ll have lots of horses,” Katlego said.

Ayumu had to explain to Yukiko how they were going to be moving soon, to a new house far away from the city. 

“Why?” Yukiko asked, her eyes wide.

“Because that’s where our master is going,” Ayumu told her. 

He caught his master giving him an oddly unhappy look but could not determine the reason for it. Still, he took a moment when they returned to the house to at least retie the sashes on his robes. 

At supper, Ayumu tried to assert a modicum of control and get Yukiko to sit properly, put Paws on the floor beside her, and eat without spilling food everywhere. Between watching her and serving his master, he hardly touched his own supper. Not until Katlego said, “I’ll take her onto the porch to play a little, now she’s finished. You—eat.” 

Yukiko wasn’t at all hesitant to take Katlego’s hand, and it stung a little, such an easy display of trust. Ayumu watched them go, telling himself he was being ridiculous. She was too young to understand the potential implications of Katlego’s behavior. Katlego was charming—and was well on his way to beginning to spoil her. It was natural that she should like his company. He needn’t be jealous or anxious that her love for him would fade. 

He had just finished his last mouthful of rice when Yukiko and Katlego returned. Yukiko had a handful of jasmine flowers that Ayumu recalled seeing growing by the porch supports. She presented them to him, solemn, and he took them carefully. 

“Thank you, little one. I’ll put them in a cup of water in our room.” 

“No need to attend me this evening,” Katlego told him, watching them with a smile. 

“Thank you, master,” he said, bowing. “Yukiko, can you bow and thank his lordship for letting you stay with us today?”

Yukiko copied his bow and piped, “Thank you!” 

“Ah, there’s no need to thank me.” Katlego rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ll visit me tomorrow, too, won’t you, Yukiko?”

“If you wish it, master,” Ayumu replied, reaching down to take Yukiko’s hand.

Something about this reply made Katlego look unhappy again, although Ayumu still did not understand what could be wrong. He was being respectful and obedient. 

Anxiety scratched in his throat, squeezing it tightly, but there was still Yukiko’s bath and bedtime to get through. Yukiko wouldn’t entertain the idea of sleep unless he sang to her, and although his supply of lullabies was regrettably scant, he knew quite a few love songs that were not risqué and had pretty melodies. 

At last she fell asleep, and Ayumu slumped onto the floor, just sitting there for a moment. Such a day, with what felt like a hundred new emotions awake in him. It had not gone smoothly, not at all, and he must do better tomorrow. He must manage Yukiko better. And he must suppress these jealous instincts. He had been allowed to have Yukiko here. He had no more authority in the matter. Obedience and calm submission. That was what he had been taught. He could not afford to stray from that. 

Just as he was unpinning his hair, a knock came on the door. It was Yannic, wearing his usual grave expression. 

“Is the little lady asleep?” he asked. Upon being introduced to Yukiko yesterday, he had adopted this form of address, much to Yukiko’s delight. At Ayumu’s nod, Yannic continued, “If you’re too tired, I understand, but I thought perhaps you’d like a cup of tea—I’ve brewed a fresh pot.”

Of late, Yannic had taken to inviting him to his office for tea in the evening and was teaching him to play a game called Queen’s Seven. Ayumu had been uncertain how to take the invitation at first. He had finally come to the conclusion that Yannic genuinely to become friends. 

So, although he _was_ tired, he said yes. It had been a wonderful yet upsetting day, and he welcomed a measure of calm routine and the company of a person whose behavior and presence did not inspire the same roil of emotions as Katlego. 

Although in the harem, his friends had all been omegas and women. It felt scandalous on some level to be sitting at a table with a beta servant, wearing only a thin, night robe. But Yannic would do nothing untoward, and his master would not protest. 

The cup of tea warmed his hands, the fragrance soothing. Yannic had laid out the game they had been working on and was pointing out a particular strategy involving the Crimson Warrior and the Heron. Ayumu tried to pay attention, but suddenly found himself blurting, “Why has his lordship never married?”

Yannic looked up at him, and he flushed. He had not meant to say anything, but perhaps Yannic might have some insight into Katlego’s actions—might know what his intentions were toward Yukiko. So he continued, “I am aware of his… preferences in the bedroom, but surely, there would be potential suitors who would not find that objectionable. And children could be adopted. Nephews or nieces or even children from another noble family that sought to make an alliance.” 

Yannic took a measured sip of tea. “I would venture that his lordship never thought much about it. His mind was given to campaigning and hunts and matters of war. Family and children—those did not have a place in his world.”

“But it is different now.”

“That is true.” Yannic looked back at the board and moved one of his pieces.

Ayumu stared at his own pieces without really seeing them. Whatever Katlego had felt in the past, his entire situation was changed. Perhaps he was thinking about family, about inheritance and children. He rubbed his thumb against his cup and found himself divulging more of his own feelings than he intended, though it made him feel lighter to say it. “I never expected to be able to have Yukiko with me. And so I never really thought about how it would be if she _was_.” 

Yannic hummed, but first commented on the game. “If you move the Heron two places to the right, it will threaten the Queen,” he said. As Ayumu did so, he continued, “My sister has four young children. When I go to visit, it is always chaos. It seems they do not sit still for more than two minutes at a time.” 

Ayumu turned his cup round and round in his hands. “His lordship… he wanted her with us today. Even when she was crying and noisy, he did not get upset.”

A brief smile crossed Yannic’s face. “He is a patient man. He was always the best with the new recruits. Some of them were just boys, far away from home for the first time. But he put them at ease and did not punish them for their mistakes. I do not think that you need worry that your daughter will upset his lordship.”

It helped to hear these things, but Ayumu still could not bring himself to ask the real question that plagued his mind. The question of what sort of future his lordship envisioned for Yukiko—and for himself.

“Speaking of his lordship, there is another matter I wished to discuss with you,” Yannic said, nodding in approval as Ayumu shifted his Crimson Warrior so that it was now diagonal to the Heron.

“And what is that?”

“The upcoming move to the country estate. I feel it would be best if you and I—and the young lady, of course—went there first to begin setting things in order. There are numerous matters to occupy his lordship here for a few more weeks. That way, we can get the heaviest work out of the way before his arrival. Despite whatever promises he may make, his lordship will not simply rest and watch. He will insist on helping, regardless of how much it hurts his leg.”

“Ah, yes, I could see that. But you want… me to go with you?”

“I would value your help in organizing and managing the house. Myself, I fear I would treat it as a barracks. And his lordship… well, you have seen the state of his rooms.”

Ayumu was always straightening the clutter that seemed to spring up in Katlego’s rooms overnight. He nodded and could not help a pleased smile, happy that Yannic should ask him and that he had made a point of ensuring Ayumu knew Yukiko would be welcome as well. “We will have to raise the subject tactfully with his lordship.”

“Indeed. Why don’t you let me take the first stab at it? If I phrase it as a business matter, he will find it difficult to refuse.”

*

_Dear Mac,_

_I think I wrote to you, a few months ago, about getting Ayumu to trust me. I thought I had achieved that—I really did!—only to find that I had been dead wrong. He had a daughter, Mac. A daughter! And he had never told me. Through various circumstances, the truth came out, and I managed to buy her from the palace. She’s with us now. Four years old and very bright and lively. Of course, I don’t know anything about children, and Ayumu, for obvious reasons, has not been able to spend much time with her. I think we’re both a mess of nerves, and he’s also worried that she’ll upset me if she’s too loud or cries too much._

_I don’t want him to worry anymore. I want him to be able to_ talk _to me. And I want him to call me by my_ name _. I find myself thinking about what it would sound like, in his voice._

_And there’s only one way that could happen, besides me ordering him to do it, which would defeat the entire purpose._

_At the moment, he acts only in ways he thinks will please me. He begs for favors. He hides any unpleasant emotions—anger, anxiety, frustration._

_I do not think he hates me. But what does he truly feel? All I know is that my own feelings grow more overwhelming with each passing day. But to speak of them would be an act of cruelty, for he would be compelled to respond in kind, regardless of his own emotions._

Katlego stared at the letter. He could never send this to Macarius. It was too personal—too private. Seized by the irrational fear that Ayumu would suddenly appear and rip it from his hands to read, he tore it into shreds and threw them in the fireplace. 

He was pretending to read a book, staring at the same paragraph without seeing the words, when Ayumu and Yukiko appeared. Yukiko had been having her afternoon nap, and she still looked drowsy, rubbing sleep out of her eyes and yawning. She held Paws in one hand. 

Yukiko had been here for over a week now and mid-summer was past. Plans for the move to the estate were progressing. He would have to stay in the city a bit longer—Yannic had brought some matters of business to his attention that could only be done here. Katlego was eager to leave, but admitted the wisdom in allowing Yannic to proceed before him. Yannic wanted Ayumu’s help, and that meant Katlego’s window of opportunity was growing narrow. Ayumu’s words to Yukiko still rang clearly in his ears—they were going to the country because their master wished it. And that could not be the reason. Not if what he hoped for could ever come to pass. He must act—and soon.

Ayumu bowed, and Katlego pushed away his simmering anxiousness. Ayumu bowing was usually the preface to him asking for something that he was needlessly afraid Katlego would deny. 

“Master, would you have an old issue of the news circular that you might spare? I had begun teaching Yukiko her letters and would like to continue her lessons. I fear she’s forgotten what she knew.”

“Have not, Papa. I ‘member them,” Yukiko mumbled around a yawn.

Katlego waved a hand at the mess of papers on his desk. “Of course—I think there’s one in that pile. But we’ll have to put off our knucklebone rematch to tomorrow, Yukiko.” He meant the latter bit to be teasing, but Ayumu stiffened.

“If you wanted to play with her, master,” he began, but Katlego cut him off.

“No, no—I was only joking. Learning her letters is important. And impressive! I certainly wasn’t that far along when I was her age.”

Ayumu only bowed again and ushered Yukiko into a corner. Katlego watched as he spread out the thin printed paper and took a scissors out of his pocket. “Can you find an ‘a’, Yukiko?” he asked. “Do you remember what that looks like?”

Yukiko stared at the paper for a while, wriggling her toes, and then pointed. 

“Very good,” Ayumu praised. “Do you know what the word says?”

She shook her head and stuck one of Paws’ ears in her mouth.

“It says ‘last.’ ‘L’, ‘a’, ‘s’, ‘t’,” Ayumu explained as he cut out the word. “What was the last thing you ate at breakfast?”

“My egg,” Yukiko mumbled.

“That’s right. Eggs are for eating, but Paws is not. Take his ear out of your mouth, please. Now can you find another ‘s’?”

When they had assembled a little collection of words, Ayumu told her that she should study them quietly while he played the zither. Yukiko nodded, although her eyes followed Ayumu as he moved to his instrument. Not until she was satisfied that he was not leaving the room did she look back at her words. 

Ayumu settled into place by his zither and briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as though centering himself, before placing his fingers on the strings. But the notes he played were as calm and smooth as always, quavering in the air. 

Katlego stared a moment and then had to look away, his heart full. But when the song ended, he cleared his throat and announced: “I have some business in town tomorrow morning, Ayumu, so you do not need to attend me until the afternoon.”

Ayumu inclined his head. “Of course, master.”

He had never known the outcome of a battle beforehand either, but that had not stopped him from charging forward at the head of his troops. And so he would do what must be done so that he could open his heart as fully as he wished. If that meant the death of his hopes… then so be it. 

*

The next morning saw him to the government offices that lined a section of the riverfront. It was bustling—ship captains there to pay port fees, merchants seeking licenses, and all the other business that required forms, approvals, or official judgements. The day promised to be hot, and the humid breeze brought the smell of the river mud in through the open window of the magistrate’s office. Katlego wrinkled his nose and shifted in his seat, impatient. A clerk was writing out the documents, while the magistrate lectured Katlego on the finer points of the law. 

“I trust your lordship understands that this does not absolve you of responsibility for the omega and his child. They will remain part of your household, and the emperor expects some provision will be made for their welfare.”

“I am aware of that, yes,” Katlego said.

The magistrate nodded, the tiny golden bells that lined the edge of her hat chiming. “But as a freed omega, he will also have certain protections under the law that he did not as a slave. These extend in part against your lordship and should he feel that he is unfairly compensated for his labor or physically abused, he would have the right to bring suit in this court. I say this not to imply your lordship would ever do such things, but only so you are informed,” she added. 

“I take no offense. I want him to have these protections.” 

“Under the law, freed persons cannot own land, although tenant farming is common, should the omega wish it. Similarly, you would be required to underwrite any loans or business ventures.” The magistrate paused as the clerk shuffled the documents and presented them to her. “Now, we will simply need your signature here, your lordship.”

A short time later, the papers signed, blotted, and stamped with the magistrate’s official seal, Katlego exited her office and stood on the edge of the street. His heart pounded as he tucked the packet away. 

He tried his best not to imagine what Ayumu’s reaction would be. He couldn’t know. In the end, Ayumu might withdraw from him. But perhaps not—perhaps not.

*

That evening, Katlego asked Ayumu to return after putting Yukiko to bed. Katlego was sitting in his chair, and Ayumu made to kneel next to him.

“No, sit down there,” Katlego told him, pointing to the other chair. 

Ayumu went still for a moment, but then did as he bade. He perched on the chair’s edge, looking uncomfortable and nervous.

Katlego handed him the papers. “These are for you. For you and Yukiko.” 

Ayumu accepted them with a slight frown, but as he scanned them, his eyes widened and his breath quickened. “Master… w-what… what _is_ this?”

“Exactly what it says. You are no longer my slave. Or anyone else’s. And before you get any ideas that I mean to throw you out, I will say emphatically that is not my intent.”

Ayumu’s hands were shaking so badly that some of the papers fell to the floor, and he bent to gather them. “But why, then?” he whispered. He had hunched in on himself, and Katlego could not see his face. 

Why—ah, now here was where it would be difficult. Difficult to explain the many tangled feelings in his heart. “Because I want you to be free. I want that for you.” He swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth. 

“So I have not displeased you?” Ayumu asked in a small voice. He glanced up, and his eyes were shiny with tears.

“Of course not! You are so very—so very dear to me,” he stammered. 

Ayumu made a soft sound at that. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away hastily and then smoothed his fingers over the papers, as though worried the ink had blurred. “You freed me,” he repeated, sounding hesitant, as though seeking confirmation, despite the proof he held in his hands. 

“Yes. I—I couldn’t have you remain a slave. I don’t want a slave by my side—someone who must stay, regardless of how they might feel. I want someone who… who…” His ears had gone red, and he couldn’t say it.

“By your side?” Ayumu repeated. “As a… servant?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly. Perhaps—perhaps not that. It would depend, you see.” Katlego shifted, sweaty under his collar. “You must understand that I want you to decide for yourself. And so if you would prefer it, when I leave for the country, you would be able to stay here as a caretaker for the house. You could stay here with Yukiko, and I would pay you a salary. But… but I confess that I hope you will choose to come with me.” 

Ayumu did not respond, staring down at his papers.

Katlego licked his lips. “Do you—will you want to come? With me?”

Ayumu’s fingers curled around the documents. “I… need to think. This is so much, so _much_.” His voice broke, and he pressed his arm against his face. 

Katlego forced himself to take a deep breath, to slow the fast beat of his heart. “Of course. I shouldn’t have pressed you. Take all the time you need. And remember that it is your choice. Whatever decision you make, I will accept.” 

Ayumu nodded, his face still hidden. Then he sniffed, lowered his arm, and met Katlego’s eyes once, so briefly that Katlego couldn’t read his expression. Carefully, he set the papers aside, and then stood, only to kneel at Katlego’s feet. “Master, thank you,” he said, his gentle voice unusually hoarse with emotion. 

“Ayumu.” Katlego waited a moment and then sighed, repeating, “Ayumu. _Look_ at me.”

Confused brown eyes met his. Standing, Katlego took Ayumu’s arm and tugged him onto his feet. “You need never kneel before me again. That is not how a free omega behaves, is it?”

“No,” Ayumu admitted slowly. “But…I do not know what I should do instead.” 

“You can meet my eyes—yes, just like that—and call me by my name.” 

“But even Yannic does not—”

“But I want _you_ to do so.” 

“K-Katlego,” Ayumu tried and then flushed and shivered. 

It sounded every bit as perfect as he had imagined. He smiled, and Ayumu relaxed a fraction, striving to keep his eyes on Katlego’s face, even though it was obviously difficult for him not to tilt his chin down submissively. 

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” Katlego said. “We’ll figure out what you want to do.”

“What I want to do,” Ayumu repeated, murmuring the words to himself. He couldn’t stop the reflexive bow as he turned to gather his precious papers and leave, although he jerked halfway through and straightened quickly. “Good night, then, mast—I, I mean K-Katlego. And—and thank you.”

Katlego watched the door close behind him and then let his shoulders slump on a sigh. Ayumu’s voice tripping over his name, his sweet brown eyes shimmering with confusion and shock, the disbelieving joy on his face as he traced the words granting him freedom—Katlego wanted more, wanted to know all of him, hoped, desperately, that Ayumu would give him this gift. A gift, not an obligation. And that in turn, Ayumu would accept what Katlego wanted to offer him—all the moods and feelings and pieces of himself, and the affection and love that wanted to burst forth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point I will maybe actually read the whole story through and clean up issues with repetition, pacing, etc. But that day is not this day.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short update, but I wanted to post _something_ after over a month of silence. Unfortunately, I probably won't be able to get more written for a while. Work has been crazy and other aspects of life busy, leaving me with very little time to write. I am not abandoning this fic, though, it's just going to be slow going for a bit.

_Ayumu Boele_

Ayumu hovered his finger over the letters, tracing them. He mouthed them silently, as Yukiko was asleep in the bed. 

Once, he had possessed a second-name. A name that belonged to his parents; a name stripped from him when he was enslaved. 

This was Katlego’s second-name—Katlego Boele. And, as a freed omega, it was his now, too. And Yukiko’s. 

Tears welled in his eyes again, and he blotted them away with his sleeve. He had never, never expected this. Perhaps he had held onto a small thread of hope for Yukiko. But not himself. 

And with his freedom came his first choice. He could stay here, with Yukiko, in the city. It would be a quiet life—minding the house, looking after Yukiko. He would have his duties, but beyond those, he could fill his days as he wanted. Occasionally, his master—no, his lordship—would no doubt come to town for a brief visit, but beyond that, they would have little contact with each other.

Or, he could go to the estate in the country. He could help manage the household there. And Katlego….

Ayumu had not been so overcome with shock at his manumission to overlook the import of Katlego’s stumbling words. 

When he had first been given to Katlego, he had assumed that his new master would take him to his bed and want to be physically intimate. Perhaps there might be some affection eventually but not love. His function would always be catering to his master’s desires, his own forever secondary, invisible, and unvoiced. Forming a romantic attachment to someone else—another servant, for example—would be forbidden. He would belong to his master.

But now…

His world had been overturned in the space of a few minutes. Things he had never allowed himself to imagine were now possible. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling the sting of tears again, and then pressed a hand to his chest where his heart beat, too quickly and too hard. Kneeling there, in a dim circle of lamplight, the house hushed and still, he felt… alone. Yes, that was it. Alone in his own person for the first time in years and years. 

It made him elated and terrified in equal measure. You could be afraid, as a slave, but it was always tempered with resignation. Now it was a pure, heady sensation at the knowledge that he would have a voice and hand in shaping the pattern of his future. And not only his, but Yukiko’s and Katlego’s as well. 

Such thoughts and feelings did not lend themselves to an easy night’s sleep, and he was already awake when Yukiko roused. She immediately clambered on top of him to plant a kiss on his cheek. He hugged her close and then tickled her ribs, smiling as she giggled and squealed. 

He had surfaced from a swirl of strange dreams to one clear thought. It made his mouth dry and quickened his heart to think it. But it still shone in his mind, bright and strong.

And so, as he walked with Yukiko to the bath, he voiced it aloud. “We’re going to go down to the river this morning.” 

“And go in a boat?” she asked, reaching out and grabbing onto the hem of his robe. 

“No, although we might see boats.”

“I want to ride a boat, Papa. And a croc— a croco— a crocodile,” she added, carefully sounding out the long word.

Ayumu glanced down at her, bemused. “A crocodile?”

Yukiko nodded her head vigorously. “They’re big and green and have lots of teeth.”

“Why would you want to ride one, then? With all those teeth?”

Yukiko considered this, taking a few big breaths. “Because I would be on its back.”

“Oh, so it couldn’t bite you there?”

She nodded. “Kat’go told me he ate one. Is that true, Papa?”

“Yukiko, I’ve told you that you have to call him ‘mas—’” He stopped. She didn’t have to. Neither of them did. And if he wanted to take Yukiko down to the river without asking Katlego or Yannic’s permission first, he could do so. 

Both of these things were all right now. Neither would get him punished.

“Papa.” Yukiko tugged at his sleeve. “Papa, I’m thirsty.” 

He stirred, taming the desire to rush back to their rooms and look at the papers again, to reassure himself of their existence. But his voice still wasn’t quite steady as he replied, “We’ll have breakfast soon, and you can have some milk. But first you need to wash your face and brush your hair.”

Yukiko shook her head. “No, because we’re going to the river.”

“That doesn’t mean we may go out in public looking like we just rose from bed.”  
Later, after breakfast, Ayumu made Yukiko hold still while he tied a straw hat on her head before putting on his own. “You have to leave it on, little one. It will keep the sun off your face,” he said as she pawed at it mutinously. 

He caught her hand in his and held on, then walked out of their room and shut the door firmly. They set off down the hallway toward the courtyard and the doorway to the street at a brisk pace. But he faltered soon enough. His steps grew slower and slower. Halfway across the courtyard, the morning sun bright about them, he stopped, frozen. 

Dimly, he was aware of Yukiko swinging his hand and asking why they had stopped, but he could hardly hear her over the pounding of his heart. 

“Ayumu? Off somewhere?”

The world lurched into motion, and he turned quickly. His grip tightened on Yukiko’s hand, probably hard enough to hurt a little, and he pulled her against his body. He could not help cringing, the memory of the sting of the lash against his back sharp and visceral. 

Yannic was standing there, holding a stack of linens, his expression mildly curious. 

Ayumu swallowed and forced himself to speak. “We’re... we’re going to the river. For a little bit. Not long.”

“Ah, yes, best to go now before it gets too hot. I’ll tell his lordship, should he inquire.” Yannic nodded a good morning to Yukiko and went on his way. 

Ayumu fought down the sob building in his throat. He would not have hysterics in the middle of the courtyard. Not over something so small as this.

“Papa?” Yukiko questioned in a small voice. 

He eased his grip on her hand. “Yes. Yes, let’s go. I’m coming.” 

By the time they reached the river, he felt calmer. They climbed down the bank carefully, and he led Yukiko to where the water lapped at the smooth sand and pebbles on the thin shore. 

“The river spirit’s name is Annoushka,” he told Yukiko. “Do you want to say hello?”

Yukiko put her fingers in the water. “Hello,” she whispered.

Ayumu touched the water too. “This is my daughter, Yukiko. Do you remember? I told you about her.” The water slipped between his fingers, furling against them. A gentle touch yet underlain with an implacable strength.

“Can I go in the water, Papa?” Yukiko asked.

“Yes, but not too far. And you have to keep your hat on.” 

Yukiko was soon splashing happily in the shallows, wrinkling her nose at the feeling of the mud between her toes and getting the hem of her robe wet as she stooped to pick up pebbles. Ayumu settled on a grassy section of the bank, watching. A barge drifted past, and Yukiko waved to the fisherman sitting on the stern. He lifted a hand in reply.

The sun was warm, and the idea of taking off his own shoes and digging his bare toes into the grass flitted through his mind. Perhaps even wading into the cool water—

No—no, he was not going to start equating his legal freedom with such indecorous behavior. Ayumu smoothed down his robe and tucked his feet more closely under his legs. He thought, suddenly, of his brightly patterned clothes and face paints. They were suited to an omega who provided pleasure to men. But he wasn’t that anymore—he didn’t have to give his body to anyone, not unless he wanted to do so. He could dress more soberly and stop painting his lips and powdering his cheeks. A strange pang of loss accompanied this realization, for he had always enjoyed his pretty things and putting on an elegant appearance. And yet, they had been constant reminders of his position too. 

In any case, he had no means to buy different clothes. When he had saved some of his own money, then he would make the decision of how he wanted to dress. 

For now, there was a more pressing matter. Taking a deep breath, Ayumu focused on Yukiko, who was busy finding sticks along the shore and sending them out into the river, like little boats. Then, a touch hesitantly, he turned his thoughts to Katlego. 

The first thing his mind struck upon was the feeling of Katlego’s arms around him, that night that Katlego brought Yukiko to him, and he had cried, overwhelmed. He remembered Katlego’s scent, and how gently he had treated him after those guards had taken him in his heat. And there was his smile and laugh—still boyish, despite his experience in war. How lost Katlego had been in his pain and grief, but how he brightened when Ayumu came into the room. The ways Ayumu enjoyed cosseting him, a little—doing his hair and serving him the choicest meat at supper. Learning how to touch Katlego so that it was comforting and not unwelcome. The warm pleasure he experienced at Katlego’s honest admiration of his music. 

He curled his hand against his chest, for his heart felt tender and shy. Apart from Yukiko, he had little experience in loving someone else. Part of him wanted to leap at the opportunity, this chance of companionship and care and affection. For a dizzying moment, he imagined it—traveling to a new place, creating a home, talking and laughing with Katlego as his partner, having him in his heart as someone to love and cherish, the both of them raising Yukiko. 

But could he trust these feelings? Or was his attraction to Katlego borne out of his gratefulness for a kind master? Would he ever truly stop feeling subservient? Would he ever break the habit of bowing and suppressing his frustrations and hurt? Would Katlego still want him if Ayumu argued with him or ignored him? If he revealed more of himself, would Katlego love those parts of him as well? 

His stomach twisted, shoulders tensing. A poem by Hotaru came to his mind:

_On the threshold.  
New snow covers the garden,  
Untrodden.  
One foot, turned, to go inside.  
I hesitate, breathing the bright, cold air._

He was jolted from his thoughts by Yukiko running up to him and clambering into his lap. She was damp and muddy from the river. Ayumu bit back a sigh as his robes _also_ became damp and muddy. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Did you like the river?” he asked. 

Yukiko nodded, snuggling against his chest. “I saw a big fish and a dragonfly and made boats.”

“I saw your boats. Where were they going?”

“To the palace. To Boyana and Isha.”

“Do you miss them?”

She nodded and then shook her head.

“No?”

“I… I want to be with you, Papa.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way, little one.” He kissed the top of her head. “Missing them doesn’t mean you have to leave me. It’s all right to miss your friends.”

Yukiko absorbed this a moment before asking, “Who do you miss, Papa?”

“I used to miss you, but now you’re here.” He pointed to the other side of the river. “Look, do you see all the sheep, Yukiko? They’re being herded to the market. Can you count how many there are?”

As they counted them off together, his attention slid back to Yukiko’s question. If he stayed here, while Katlego left….

He would miss him. Of that, at least, Ayumu was certain.


	11. Chapter 11

It was late morning, edging close to the noon hour, when Ayumu slid open the door to Katlego’s rooms. Katlego had been making an attempt at sorting through some books and papers in expectation of the upcoming move, but had really just been shuffling through them, his mind on Ayumu. Yannic had told him that Ayumu had taken Yukiko down to the river, and he had been struggling against the urge to rush after them. 

He didn’t know what Ayumu would decide. He didn’t know how Ayumu truly felt. He didn’t know a damned thing, and this might end with Ayumu taking Yukiko and going off to seek his fortune elsewhere. 

At this point, breathing heavily, Katlego had had to sit down and rub a cramp in his leg and then deliver a petulant kick at a foot stool. 

And should Ayumu decide to stay, he might choose to remain only as Katlego’s servant. Perhaps… perhaps he wanted to find someone who would make love to him, who would touch and caress him. Perhaps he wanted more children. 

He had tried to picture it—fitting his mouth against Ayumu’s, their breaths mingling. Sliding his hand along Ayumu’s thigh and in between his legs. But as always, it made him cringe. There was no spark of want or arousal, only disinterest, followed by a nervous repulsion. 

He had long ago stopped trying to make sense of it. Of why he enjoyed a lazy morning in bed, stroking himself to orgasm, while looking at one of the cheap, illustrated pamphlets Mac was forever purchasing. The ones that depicted omegas in various states of heat, bound and at an alpha’s mercy, mounted and bred. And yet the idea of an _actual_ omega, like Ayumu, or a woman, like Persis, the pretty daughter of the family who lived across the street and smiled at him from her window—the thought of being with them in any sexual manner was completely unappealing. Trying to imagine it only made his chest tight with discomfort and his eyes smart with tears. 

“Well, now. Well, I suppose not everyone feels the same,” his father had said, soft and confused, when Katlego, seventeen and bursting with impatience and unspoken fears, had confessed this lack of sexual interest after listening to the other boys talking about riding past a brothel, with the sweet-thick scent of omegas in heat on the air and how it made them _want_. 

“But, father,” he had said, and then the words choked up in his throat, and he stood there, blinking away frustrated tears. His father had squeezed his shoulder, always gentle and kind. But he hadn’t known what to say or do, and Zoya was already gone. 

And so, Katlego had clenched his fists and taken a deep breath and decided that it wouldn’t matter. He could fight and ride just the same, and Mac always seemed to know when he needed an arm around his shoulders, a little shake of a hug. 

But now, with Ayumu… 

He had never worked up the courage to ask what Ayumu thought of his preferences. It made him blush hotly, sometimes, thinking of how experienced Ayumu was in sexual matters and the sorts of things he must have done. He knew that not all of them had been done by Ayumu’s choice, and he thought of the guards, holding him down in the cellar while they took him by force. But that didn’t mean that if Ayumu had the choice he would not want loving caresses and kisses or even more intimate pleasures. 

Katlego hoped that were that the case, Ayumu would choose to stay here in the city, so he would not have to watch him find a lover.

Caught up in such thoughts, when Ayumu finally appeared in the door, Katlego’s heart leapt into his throat, and his hands shook as he set aside the papers he was holding. Their eyes met and a long, awkward moment of silence ensued. 

But then Yukiko pushed in past her father, bouncing on her toes, telling Katlego about the river and boats and sheep and crocodiles. It broke his attention from Ayumu, and he laughed and asked her a few questions. When he next looked up, Ayumu was fussing with the tray of breakfast things that hadn’t been collected yet. 

“It was a nice morning, then?” Katlego asked him, ducking his head a little to try and see Ayumu’s expression. 

“Yes,” Ayumu said, visibly choking back a ‘master.’

“I should have gotten out before the heat set in, but….” He trailed off and cleared his throat. 

Ayumu turned around, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “Yukiko,” he said. “Go and fetch your hairbrush. Your hair got all tangled in the wind. And put your slippers back on. We don’t run around the house barefoot.” 

“It’s no matter,” Katlego began and then stopped, finding himself for the first time on the receiving end of a quelling look from Ayumu. 

“Proper young ladies do not run around barefoot,” Ayumu repeated, and Yukiko, pouting, did as she was told and shuffled off to get her hairbrush. 

Ayumu took a deep breath, appeared to steel himself, and slowly sat in the chair opposite Katlego. “I have thought on the matter of what I shall do now that I am…” He took another steadying breath, and Katlego found himself leaning forward, tense. “Now that I am a free omega,” Ayumu finished. He was not looking at Katlego, keeping his gaze fixed on the woven rug at their feet. 

“And you’ve made a decision, then?” Katlego prompted, aiming for a casual tone and missing it by a mile.

“Yes.” Ayumu smoothed his robes over his knees. “I should like to accompany you to the country estate.” 

Relief flooded through him. “Oh, but that’s grand! I’m so pleased.” He grinned. “You’ll love it there. I know you will. And I should have hated not to have your company.” 

A quick glance then and the smallest hint of a smile. “I should have missed you as well, I think,” Ayumu confessed, and really, Katlego’s heart was going to beat out of his chest in a minute. 

“But it is still very new,” Ayumu continued, going back to staring at the rug. “My… my new status. I believe that I can manage your household affairs quite capably. But beyond that… beyond that…”

“We can figure it out,” Katlego said. “I have never, myself, entered into any sort of… of partnership or relationship of a, well, of a romantic nature.” 

Ayumu flushed very prettily at that and looked up and met Katlego’s eyes for a full minute before Yukiko returned and reclaimed her papa’s attention. 

The rest of their day did not differ markedly from its usual course, except that Ayumu called him by his name, twice, and announced in a decided tone that he was going to sit down after supper and begin an inventory of various household items that might be moved to the estate with Katlego’s approval. 

“Whatever you think is best,” Katlego said.

“These are your family’s possessions,” Ayumu returned. “We will go over it together, so I do not miss anything that might have a sentimental value.” 

“Very well. But at the estate—it will be your home too, you know. You should arrange it as you see fit. I’ve spent too long bivouacking and living rough on the border to care for much beyond a comfortable bed and a hot bath.” 

Ayumu seemed quietly pleased at this, and Katlego bid him and Yukiko a good night after supper. For his part, he felt too light-hearted to settle down to a book and called Yannic and Dorji in to share some cups of wine. Yannic began reminiscing about the summer when they fought at Ar del Geyr, and how it had been just such a humid night as this, and they had come to the Ford of the Black Rock and found the river in full flood. And then he stopped abruptly, for Katlego had not wanted to speak or hear one word about those times. But on this night, the memories did not sting so sharply, and he gestured for Yannic to continue and drained his cup in a toast to their comrades. 

He was at last making ready for bed and had only just realized that without Ayumu, he must brush and braid his hair himself. Immediately, he missed Ayumu’s gentle touch and the soothing sensations of the brush against his scalp. He was thinking that perhaps, in the coming months, it might be something Ayumu offered to do and was deep into a pleasant speculation of adjoining bedchambers and of Ayumu, hair tousled with sleep and wearing a light silk robe that showed off his slender neck, usually covered in high collars, when there was a light knock on his door. 

It was Ayumu, and he was surprised, and then his first thought—a selfish thought—was that Ayumu had known how he would miss their nightly ritual. But then he saw the troubled expression on Ayumu’s face and how his arms were crossed tightly over his chest. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, retying his robe. 

Ayumu did not answer for a long moment, and Katlego took a few hesitant steps toward him. He stopped and hovered awkwardly, putting most of his weight on his good leg.

“Could we sit down in the other room?” Ayumu finally asked, looking as though he were of half a mind to flee instead.

“Yes, of course.” Katlego gestured him through hastily, bringing along the lamp. “Do you want anything? Tea?”

“No, thank you.” Ayumu sat down with the same hesitant stiffness as earlier, perching uncertainly on the edge of the chair. He worried at his lip with this teeth and then spoke again, the words soft and halting. “There was another omega—Ryou—in the harem, who was my friend. Our rooms were next to each other, and I would slip through, and we would talk. About many things. And I have seen that you receive letters from someone who is, I think, your friend.”

“Macarius,” Katlego supplied. “And he is. We’ve known each other since we were boys.”

“Ryou came to the harem in the same year as me. And it becomes easier to talk about… about certain things with someone when you have known them a long time.” 

“Longer than we have known each other,” Katlego said, thinking he saw where Ayumu was headed with this.

Ayumu nodded. “But I thought that you would not mind it, if I—you see, I started thinking about the—the journey, and I—and I—” Ayumu’s hands and voice trembled, and he swallowed, curling in on himself. 

“Of course I do not mind it,” Katlego burst out. “You must feel free to come to me with whatever is troubling you. To speak frankly. And to me it seems that we have already been through so much together. Why, you have seen me crying over my leg and saying things that I should not have said to any other.”

“We were not together. Not in that way,” Ayumu corrected, and Katlego winced.

“No. Of course, it was different for you. I’m sorry.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched, and then Ayumu abruptly stood. “I cannot sit here and talk about this like—like two matrons on a social call. I do not know how to be easy with you. All I know is getting on my knees. You must think me such a weak, cringing creature—”

“No, no that’s not true. Not true at all.” Katlego stood as well and reached out slowly to grasp Ayumu’s hand. “Why don’t you sit with me on the bed? We can stack up the pillows, and I can stretch out my leg. And I’ll pour us each a little glass of cordial.” 

To this Ayumu assented. Katlego’s bed was big enough that they did not have to sit pressed together if they did not wish, but Ayumu sat close enough that he could lean slightly into Katlego’s arm. He took the small, dark green glass that Katlego handed him and took a tentative sip of the cordial. 

“There.” Katlego took a drink as well and sighed, resting his head on the pillows. “Is this better?”

A nod, and Ayumu leaned into him a little more, although he kept his head tilted down, looking into his glass. “It was just that I suddenly thought of how on the journey, it will be only me and Yannic and Yukiko and a few of the guards. And at the estate, too. It sounds like such a large house. And… and my heat will likely be here soon. And I… I still get so frightened. The guards. What if they….”

“I’ll chop their fucking balls off. And then their heads,” Katlego growled, rage filling him at the very thought.

Ayumu looked up, startled, his eyes wide. And then, to Katlego’s chagrin, he laughed. 

“I mean it! I’m not going to let that happen to you ever again!” he insisted, flushing. “I can still use a sword. I’m not _useless_.”

“Ah, I know.” Ayumu touched his cheek, smiling, openly fond, and it stopped Katlego’s rant, leaving him with his mouth hanging open in surprise.

“It is such an alpha thing to say,” Ayumu continued. “And you have never been like them.” 

Katlego’s blush intensified. “I was—am—a warrior. I’ve killed many men. You have never seen me in battle.” 

“No.” Ayumu’s eyes softened, and he reached up to tuck an errant piece of hair behind Katlego’s ear. “Does it hurt you if I say that I am glad of it? That I’m glad you no longer have to go to war, though I am sorry for your leg. I have only ever been with men who liked my submission. But you are so sweet to me. My lovely boy.” 

Ayumu seemed to catch himself then, realizing what he had said, and he ducked his head down and laughed, rueful. “And here I claimed to not be easy in your presence.”

Katlego’s breath caught at the endearment, and he fumbled for Ayumu’s hand, slotting their fingers together. But he was not quite brave enough to ask for Ayumu to call him that again. “We can go to the estate together, you know,” he said instead. “Although I trust Yannic—he deeply regrets his actions when you first came here, and I know that he would protect you. You do not need to fear any harm.” 

Ayumu worried at his lip again. “I should like to go ahead, by myself. So we can get the heavy cleaning done, and I can make your rooms pleasant and comfortable.”

“You and Yannic want me out the way, you mean, so I don’t make a nuisance of myself.”

“Well, yes,” Ayumu admitted, candid, and Katlego sighed and rubbed at his leg with his free hand.

“But to be in a strange place and have my heat, with only other men around. And Yukiko—someone would have to look after her,” Ayumu continued, anxious again.

“I really can come with you. I will promise to rest and not overexert myself.” 

“Yes, but I feel also that it might be well for us to have some time apart,” Ayumu said carefully. “At least, I should like the opportunity to—to get my breath back, if you understand. To think. I’ve never traveled outside the city, and I… I have never really been alone and responsible for myself.”

Katlego didn’t understand, not really, but he squeezed Ayumu’s hand. “You will be fine. Perhaps it would be wise to hire another omega or a woman to go with you as a companion and to look after Yukiko. Or you can get one when you arrive at the estate.”

“Maybe when we arrive. I do not think my heat will come before then.” Ayumu finished his cordial and leaned away to set his glass on the table, but then settled back at Katlego’s side and tucked his hand through Katlego’s arm. “This is all right?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, yes. I like it, having you near, just so.” He twisted his own glass around in his hands. “Would you write to me? I should very much like it, if you would write. But… but if you prefer not, I should understand.”

“I will write to you,” Ayumu promised. “And you will write back?”

“Yes.” He laughed, nervous and happy and uncertain all at once, so conscious of Ayumu’s closeness. “You will likely get sick of me, with how often I shall write.”

“At least let the ink dry between one and the next,” Ayumu said after a moment’s pause, still hesitant about teasing, but _doing_ it, and it was all so much _better_ already, so much better than it had been. And he thought that even if the connection between them came to naught, he would never regret freeing Ayumu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! Yeah, there was no way I was getting through this story without at least _one_ pet name.


	12. Chapter 12

_Eighth month, half-moon’s day_

_Honored Lord,_

_I write from the Inn of the Golden Pheasant, four-day’s ride from the capital. You recommended the establishment, and it is indeed very pleasant. Yukiko and I have our own room, as we have had each night. The first day, when I objected to the expense, Yannic said that it was your instruction that I should always have my own accommodations. For this I am most grateful and humbled before your generosity._

_As you have so often traveled this road, I shall not include a tiresome account of all that we have seen, but rather a few select impressions that will, I believe, stay in my mind forever. On the first day out, just past the noon hour, we came to the Thousand Bells. I had, of course, heard of this temple, for it is a famous place. Indeed, a crowd of travelers and pilgrims walked up and down the steps, and one could only kneel for a few moments before the shrine as so many sought to pray there. But despite the throng, all were hushed and spoke in whispers, and so it was easy to hear the bells. Many more than a thousand, I should think, hung from every branch, chiming in the wind, a constant music. Enterprising merchants stood at the bottom of the steps offering bells for sale, but I had brought two of my own. They had hung from a headpiece I wore in the palace whenever I would be called upon to dance and were therefore small but, I felt, of more significance than a new bell bought from a hawker’s stall. I gave one to Yukiko to hang, and we found a small tree a short distance from the shrine and tied the bells to a branch. Does a bell of yours hang in those trees, I wondered, and if so, how long ago did you tie it there?_

_Much of the country we have passed through is heavily forested, and the road winds up and down hills, threading through the tall trees. And they are so tall! Yesterday, we stopped for the noon meal, and I wandered into the surrounding forest. The trees towered above me, and I felt like a mouse must feel, shrunken to smallness in the face of such a vast world. The canopy was so thick that only a few gleams of sun broke through, and noontide seemed like evening. Yukiko has been trying to climb every tree that bears a likely branch or two, and I am always having to ask one of the guards, Hauke, to climb after her and fetch her because once she gets high enough, she gets too afraid to come down on her own. Hauke has a slight build and can manage it, whereas his compatriot, Babak, is more muscular. But Babak lets Yukiko ride on his shoulders, to Yukiko’s delight. (Incidentally, they have both been unfailingly polite to me and I am sure you put great care into their selection.)_

_Truly, I have been pleasantly surprised at the courtesy I have met with on the road. On the second day out, we came to a small village and paused to water the horses. Yannic encouraged me to take Yukiko and walk through the market. Assuredly, I have dressed plainly and kept my silks wrapped in their trunks, yet still I find alphas will notice that I am an omega, and in this market, I drew the eyes of many, as Yukiko and I were obviously strangers. It had rained the night before, and despite wearing my high sandals, the mud was quite deep and slippery. I tripped and almost fell, but someone caught me and helped me to a piece of dryer ground. I turned to find that my rescuer was an alpha. A rough boy with ragged hair and oft-mended clothes, perhaps the son of a farmer. I expected coarse words at the very least and feared he would seize the chance to take more liberties with my person. But he bowed and asked if I was unhurt and smiled quite cheerfully before going on his way._

_So the worries you listened to so kindly that one evening have hardly troubled me. Instead, I have been enjoying our journey and this chance to see so much of the countryside. Yukiko does become fractious after too long in the wagon and will not keep her hat on no matter how many times I tell her she must, but she too is quite absorbed in all the new sights and sounds and asks a hundred questions a day._

_In three more days, we shall arrive at your estate. Though I expect we shall be much occupied, I shall write as time permits and tell you how things fare._

_Yours very respectfully,_

_Ayumu_

_*_

_Eighth month, the full moon’s eve_

_Dear Katlego,_

_As you may tell from my form of address, your letter arrived today. I would chide you for the exorbitant expense such a fast messenger must have incurred, but I must admit that I was very happy to receive it. You begged me to use a less formal title, that you would not feel at all displeased, and so I have settled upon your name, though I blushed to write it. It does not seem at all proper. You will say that we call each other by name in person, and that is true, but it was only for a few days. I am not grown used to it yet, to be so casual and… and intimate with you._

_I smiled at your description of the eager young boy whose mother lifted him in her arms so he could hang a bright silver bell at the temple. I can picture the same boy running about this house—much as Yukiko is doing now._

_Oh, your words did not do it justice! Such a fine house, with such pleasant prospects. The lake, and that lovely birch grove, and the tall pines on the north-facing slope._

_We are at present camped on the ground floor. You will be heartened to know that the house itself is in good condition, with the exception of the roof on the south wing, where a number of tiles have broken or blown off. Some water leaked into the room underneath, but Yannic has patched the hole until the roof can be repaired. Otherwise, it is merely the chore of cleaning several years’ worth of dust and grime, airing out the rooms, and uncovering and carting about furniture. The stables, I am told, are another matter entirely, but they are not within my purview._

_I thought that I would take a pair of rooms on the second floor that face to the west. You will know them, I am sure. A little, curving staircase goes down from one to the covered porch below, and there is a cunning alcove in the other, a perfect nook for a soft pillow where one could curl up and read on a cold day or where small girls might take naps. But of course, if there is a reason I should not choose these, you must tell me and direct me as to which would be more suitable. I shall have to use them for my heat, in any case, but could move again after. Oh, and you must also write and tell me which wing you wish for your own. I thought that perhaps you would not want to stay in the old rooms you had as a child._

_Tomorrow morning, Yannic and I will go to the village and find a likely girl or omega who can look after Yukiko during my heat._

_And now I find myself facing another dilemma, for you wrote that my closing words were also not to your satisfaction, although I think that we both respect each other and that is no small thing. But I will try another closing, which may please you better._

_Yours affectionately,_

_Ayumu_

_*_

_Ninth month, new moon_

_Dear Katlego,_

_You will, I hope, accept my sincere apologies for not writing sooner. I can only plead the fatigue that accompanies my heat and then how busy we have been in recent days. I hope this letter reaches you before you leave the capital. In particular, I wish to remind you to take your time on the journey here and not to neglect your leg massages. Rest at frequent intervals to stretch your leg, too, and don’t get caught out in the rain, as I am sure the damp would have an ill effect._

_There is so much to tell you, I hardly know where to begin. So I will start with your last letter and the preference you expressed for taking the rooms next to the ones I had chosen. You write as though I have the final say in the matter, which is certainly not true, but I have no reason to object. The potential objections you list never crossed my mind, and as you say, there would indeed be advantages in being situated close to one another. It also brings me to a point that I am not entirely sure how to express. For so much of my life, my interactions with alphas and betas involved, well, you are perfectly aware what they involved. And I am afraid that I will do something, unintentionally, that will make you uncomfortable because that is all that I have known. Often, it seems as though I am feeling my way blindfolded when we are together, clumsy and unsure. I think, if we are to come to a lasting agreement, we must be forthright with one another. Although I admit that I will find that difficult too. Is it enough that I will promise to try? And for you to do the same?_

_In any event, I shall prepare those rooms for you. As you instructed, I shall be sure to move the carved chest and those lamps from your old rooms to the new. The lamps are indeed beautiful, and the silk shades still in good condition, if a bit faded. I believe I shall order a new carpet made for your new bed chamber, though. Happily, there is a skilled weaver in the village who should be able to make it to my specifications and to suitable quality for your household. But I fear the same cannot be said for the local potter. I wished a new set of teacups, for the ones here are all mismatched and have, if I may say it, an unattractive pattern. However, I was very disappointed in the potter’s work. Yannic professed that the wares seemed adequate to him, but when I pointed out the various deficiencies, he conceded the point. Yannic has commented several times on how glad he is to have my expertise, although I have never run a household. But I am familiar with fine things, having been surrounded by them in the palace, and so I suppose that I am well-positioned to at least know the standards a house such as yours should maintain and see that these things are done properly._

_Oh, but now I am brought to another difficult topic. It is one that I should have spoken about with you before, but I did not, and I hope that I have not caused trouble or—or brought you shame now because of my reticence. You see, I realized, as I went to the village and talked with merchants that I had no idea how to introduce myself. Well, my name was easy enough, but how to explain my relationship to you? How to explain why I was assuming the place at the young lord’s estate that would usually be held by a female or omega member of the family?_

_In hindsight, I should have said that I was a servant. Which…which I am. After all, hardly any time has passed since I was yet a slave. And oh, I fear that you will think me so proud, so self-important. But I did not want to call myself a servant. For I know you do not wish me to be only that to you. And here, in this new place, I wanted—I wanted to be looked on with respect. And so I eluded the question and merely gave my name and intimated that I represented your interests._

_Perhaps all would have been well, but with my heat nearing, I engaged the services of a young omega to help me and to look after Yukiko when I was indisposed. His name is Oleksiy, and his parents own one of the two inns in the village. He is sixteen, but has a respectful and obedient disposition and immediately took to Yukiko. He told her she could call him “older brother.” I find his scent quite calming, and so Oleksiy came to stay at the house for the days when I was confined to my room. I suppose you may not know this, but it is comforting for omegas, when we are in heat, to have another omega nest with us. So Oleksiy and Yukiko sometimes slept with me in my bed, so I was surrounded by their scents, and it eased my symptoms considerably. But of course, that meant that Oleksiy happened to look through my trunk while finding me a clean robe, and he saw my fine silks and my jewelry and perfumes. All much too elegant for a servant to possess. And I found myself telling him the truth—how I had been in the imperial harem for many years, and then given to you, and how you had freed me._

_Oleksiy was, I think, quite captivated by what he saw as the romance of the situation. He has little notion of the more sordid aspects involved in being a slave whose purpose is to give alphas and betas pleasure. He was only awestruck at the thought of actually living in the same palace as the emperor and getting to wear such beautiful things. Indeed, he begged to be allowed to try on one of my robes and now wants me to teach him how to play the zither and how to paint his eyes and lips. But for all his good qualities, Oleksiy has a tendency to gossip and chatters constantly about this and that. The boy could not hold his tongue to save his life. And so I am sure that he has told his mother everything, and inevitably, in a village that size, soon everyone must know._

_It is true I was born in poverty, but I am now well-educated and accomplished. I think that I behave with decorum. I am not some low omega from a brothel by the docks. But there are those who will think that I am only useful for one thing and assume that I warm your bed. And because I am no longer young, they will laugh at you behind your back, saying that you took me because you were unable to find a young and pretty marriage partner. When there are no children, they will say it is because I am too old and ruined and whisper about how sad it is that you will have no heirs._

_And perhaps I presume too much about our future, although I do not think so. Not from the sweet words you write in your letters._

_I wish you to be happy here. And I fear that I will have ruined any chance at it. I do not want these people—who are below you in station—to sneer at you because of me. I do not want your friends and those you hold in esteem, such as the general, to see you make such a poor choice of partner. I was foolish to think that my freedom would somehow erase all that I have been. It is only words, only paper. My body is still the same that submitted to the pleasure of others._

_This is the true reason I did not write sooner—because I knew I must tell you this, and I could not find the words._

_I thought that being away from you would bring me a measure of clarity, but I only want you near again. It is all so new, and I led such a sheltered life, Katlego. I am frightened about—about everything._

_Ah, see there I have smeared the ink because I am crying. I now hope this letter does not reach you—never reaches you. You will think me so naïve and foolish. But I must say these things. Did I not just promise to be honest with you?_

_Ayumu_


	13. Chapter 13

The carriage crested the hill, and a breeze fluttered the curtain in the window, bringing with it the scent of home. Katlego drew a long, deep breath. It was the smell of pine trees and browning grass and a sudden sweet, sharp note of rotting leaves as they rode along the banks of a stream. 

The last time he had been here and smelled that scent, he had been riding a horse and wearing his armor. 

“Don’t mind it,” he whispered to himself, curling his fingers around the edge of the seat. _And remember—he’s waiting for you._

He wrapped that thought around himself, warding off the darker shadows, took another breath, and stuck his head out the window, craning his neck to see—

There! There was the house. And there! A small group of figures clustered by the gateway. Yannic, and Yukiko, jumping up and down, and yes, there—

“Hello!” he shouted, waving his arm. “Hello, the house!”

Of course, Ayumu didn’t shout and didn’t wave, but he was smiling, and it was just as beautiful as Katlego had remembered. No, more so! It seemed so long that they had been apart. 

Now the carriage was pulling to a stop, and he grabbed his cane, impatiently waiting for the door-latch to be lifted. He tumbled out when the door opened, and Yannic caught his arm to steady him.

“Careful, my lord, and mind your step,” Yannic cautioned. 

“Kat’go! Kat’go!” Yukiko squealed, flinging herself at his leg and holding on.

“Well, hello, Yukiko. I missed you, too,” he said with a laugh, putting a hand on her head. “And—” He lifted his eyes and looked at Ayumu. 

Ayumu was wearing robes of a pale cream color, with a band of blue flowers running along the hem, and a darker blue sash. It was more understated than what he had worn in the capital, though his hairpins were still of yellow jade. He stood quietly, his hands folded in his sleeves.

“Welcome home, my lord,” Yannic said, and Katlego started and looked beyond Ayumu, through the gate, and to the familiar doors. There was a strange, disorienting moment when he expected to see his father walking out them and down the steps. 

“Allow me to introduce the new staff,” Yannic continued, and Katlego looked back at the others who were waiting in a respectful line a step behind Ayumu. 

The cook, Yating, a middle-aged woman whose dark brown clothes and the distinctive tattoos on her lips and fingers signified she belonged to the White Fox Mountain sect. Katlego remembered the sect as the most prominent in these parts, boasting many followers, its own festival days, and a large temple. Yating had for an assistant her younger cousin, Shui. 

Next were three servants, Guo, Zhen, and Branko. Then there were two guards—the same who had traveled with Ayumu and Yannic on the road, Hauke and Babak. They had agreed to remain in Katlego’s employ, at least through the winter. 

“We’ll need a likely lad or two to help with the horses, of course,” Yannic concluded. “But I’ve left that for later. The stable renovations will take a few weeks to finish, yet.”

Katlego managed a few suitable words, and the household— _his_ household bowed. But his earlier excitement had waned. Standing here, he had begun remembering other faces and voices. He had not forgotten them, not really, but here, surrounded by the old, familiar smells and looking on the house, it all seemed sharper. And it hurt, too. It hurt, to remember how it had been once. To remember a particular New Year’s day, when fresh snow blanketed the ground, and his mother took him skating on the frozen lake. Or the autumn afternoon, when he and his father found a lonely apple tree in the woods and ate the small, tart fruit until they both ended up with a stomachache. He remembered old Pau the gardener, and the girl with long braids all done up in ribbons who used to bring eggs to sell. And the two white mares that his father had loved best out of all the horses, and the tiny little dog, Rags, running in circles and barking shrilly. 

They were all gone. All gone and never to come again, only to fade, slowly, in his mind as the years passed. And now he was trying to create a new thing—a new home—but maybe it had been wrong to return. Wrong to return and think that he could ever recapture the feelings of those days, when it had all been new, and his world filled with promise. 

A soft touch on his wrist startled him from his thoughts, and he found Ayumu there beside him. 

“The journey was long. It would be good for you to come inside and have some tea and rest, I think. I can show you your new rooms, if you would like,” Ayumu said, and he smiled, a small, soft smile that eased Katlego’s heart a little.

And it got better, when they were inside. It wasn’t how he remembered it at all. His mother had been an indifferent housekeeper whenever she was home, and his father put most of his attention to the horses, and so the house had always carried a slightly neglected air. It had been a haphazard arrangement of furniture and weapons, of papers and books, with couriers from the general running in and out with missives for his mother, and his father sitting and smoking a pipe with his friends and talking about horses. Katlego had kept pet frogs and beetles in his room, and left his clothes strewn about, and broken a pane of glass with his slingshot, and no one had ever said a thing about it. 

Ayumu, it was instantly apparent, had a very different idea of how to manage a household. The furniture, rugs, and painted screens in the public rooms had been precisely arranged. There were a few scrolls and books visible, but the rest had been banished to some chest or cabinet. The shutters on most of the windows were open, and the screens drawn aside, so that the warm breeze could meander through the house. An attractive display of dried grass, the purple flowers of early autumn, and some reddening leaves occupied one table. All was calm and serene. Katlego had a sudden vision of the face Ayumu would make should he ever find Yukiko keeping a frog in her room and winced. He’d have to talk Ayumu into getting her a kitten or puppy in the next few years. 

In his new chambers, Katlego found a somewhat more relaxed atmosphere. But, despite the presence of a few pieces of furniture from his childhood bedroom, it was so different. The rooms of an adult. The rooms of a man overseeing a business venture, with the writing table, and the wax seals, and the ink sticks. His sword was there, but it was displayed on the wall. 

Still—still, that was how it must be. And he already felt comfortable here. He liked the rug, with its bold patterns of red and blue and yellow. From the window, he could see the slopes of the hills and look west into the mellow light of evening. And there were the little touches of comfort—an extra blanket at the foot of the bed, a bowl of peaches on the table, the storm glass with its colored water, glinting by the window—that made the room feel inviting and homelike.

He said as much to Ayumu, who was still standing quietly by the door, adding, “Really, the whole house is just marvelous. I think—no, I know I shall be very happy here.”

Ayumu smiled and fussed with the drape of his sleeves. “I enjoyed it. It was nice to think that....well, that this was a place that I should be able to stay for a long time. That no one would cast me out when I’d outlived my usefulness.” 

It always hurt to hear how casually Ayumu referred to what he had endured—to remember how Katlego himself had contributed to his misery. So he said fiercely, “You can call it your home, you know. I _want_ you to call it that. And I must add that your last letter—it made my heart hurt, what you wrote.” He thumped his fist against his chest, remembering the ache. “Do you truly believe I would care what some idle gossips had to say? And if my friends should find fault with you—well, then I should cease to call them such.”

Ayumu flushed at the mention of the letter. “It is well enough to say such things, but you have your position to think of—your standing in society,” he protested.

Katlego sighed and lowered himself onto the couch, stretching out his leg. He patted the space next to him. “Will you come sit? Let’s not shout across the room at each other.”

“I was not shouting,” Ayumu objected with a slight frown, but he came and sat.

“I appreciate your concern for me—and for my family name. But Ayumu, my family has never been the most conventional. Why, my mother went on a campaign when she was still breastfeeding me. My grandmother said it sent all the court ladies into a tizzy, and they kept urging her to discipline her daughter-in-law. My grandmother just told them that she had stopped trying to tell Zoya what to do after she buried her sword in the dining table when my grandmother made a comment about women wearing armor to a supper party. And my grandmother wasn’t any better in her way. She traveled extensively even before her marriage, often in the company of alphas and betas. And although I never could find out the details, there was apparently some scandal surrounding her marriage to my grandfather.

“So, all of that is to say that you are not brining any dishonor to my house or my family by being who you are. Our family values bravery and loyalty over all else.” He reached over and took Ayumu’s hand. “Do you not remember what I wrote to you?’

Ayumu curled his fingers tightly around Katlego’s, although his blush intensified, and he couldn’t manage to meet Katlego’s eyes. “You wrote that you thought I was very brave,” he said softly. 

“One of the bravest people I’ve ever met. And I meant it. I am honored to know you.”

A tear slid down Ayumu’s cheek, and he wiped it away and then moved closer, finally meeting Katlego’s eyes, his own solemn but bright. “Would you hold me, a little? And let me scent you?”

Katlego held his arms open in answer, and soon they had arranged themselves comfortably, Ayumu tucked against him. Ayumu’s breath tickled against his neck, and he pressed his own nose against Ayumu’s hair, scenting him in turn. 

“I liked getting your letters,” Ayumu murmured. “And so did Yukiko. She was so excited, to have one addressed to her, sealed with wax and bound in a velvet ribbon.”

“I’m glad.” He hugged Ayumu a little tighter. 

“And you wrote me poetry,” Ayumu continued, and to Katlego’s dismay, began to recite aloud, “ _Each hour of the day, my thoughts turn your way; to your smile, soft, your eyes_ —”

“Stop, stop!” Katlego interrupted, his ears burning. “I’ve no talent at it, I know. Please don’t say that awkward, amateurish mess aloud.”

He could feel the tremble of Ayumu’s laughter, but when he pulled back a little to look at Katlego, his smile was tender. “Very well—I won’t if it bothers you so much. But know that I treasure every verse.”

“Really?” 

“Truly.” Ayumu settled back against him, taking Katlego’s hand and pressing it between his own. “In the harem, there was an omega who was the emperor’s favorite. He was so beautiful, so graceful and charming. Poets composed verses and songs about him. It made me jealous. I was never favored by anyone. I never inspired anyone to write poetry. But now—now my lovely boy wrote me such sweet verses. So yes, I will treasure them.”

“Well, so long as you don’t show them to anyone else,” he muttered, not quite able to suppress a satisfied smile at the knowledge that he’d made Ayumu so happy.

They sat quietly for a while, and Katlego felt himself getting drowsy, lulled by Ayumu’s scent and the warm afternoon sun. But he stirred himself to ask a question because he wanted to make sure—needed to be sure that Ayumu’s letter had not hidden anything. 

“And you meant it when you said that nothing bad happened during your heat? That you felt safe?”

Ayumu hummed an affirmative. “I was anxious, in the days prior,” he admitted. “I couldn’t help remember what had happened when—well, before. But this time, I wasn’t alone. I had Yukiko and Oleksiy to stay with me. And Yannic made sure to keep all the other servants and guards away from this part of the house, so I wouldn’t have to smell them. He even sent for a tincture from the village doctor, for easing my symptoms.” 

“Good—I’m glad you weren’t alone. That things are better now. They… they _are_ better, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Very much so. Although I still… well, it is all still very new for me. I didn’t write this in my letters, but one night, when we were at an inn, there were two alphas staying there as well. They were nobles, and they were eating supper at the same time we were, in the inn’s common room. And I…” Ayumu paused, and then his voice grew smaller as he continued, “It was so hard not to get on my knees, to lower my head and prostrate myself before them. Every instinct screamed at me to do it. That—that they would somehow know what I was.”

“What you are is a free omega,” Katlego said. “No alpha—or beta—or anyone—has a hold over you. But I can understand why you felt as you did.”

Ayumu nodded, but his voice was still subdued when he spoke again. “May I request something of you?”

“Of course.”

“May I… may I ask that you only enter my rooms if I invite you?”

“You do not need to ask that. I would never presume to simply barge in uninvited,” Katlego replied, with some heat. 

“I meant that if things continue to… develop between us,” Ayumu said hesitantly, shifting against him. “We… we have adjoining rooms now. I could see how sometimes, you might like to… to come see me. Not because you seek my bed. But you might seek my company. But… but they are _my_ rooms. And… and my time is my own now, to spend as I wish. And so I should ask you to always knock, and if I want to be alone, to respect my wishes.” 

“I promise. I will always respect your wishes. In this and all things.” He took a deep breath. “And may I request something of you in turn?”

Ayumu raised his head, looking at him, curious but calmer now.

“Will you always ask if you wish to touch me in a more intimate manner, such as we are now?” Katlego continued, his voice wavering slightly, for he had never had anyone to speak of these things to before. “And if I do not feel like I always want to do so, will you promise not to take offense? To not assume that it means my affections for you are any less?”

Ayumu smiled, gentle. “I promise.” 

*

After some tea and a short nap, Katlego felt recovered enough to go with Yannic to view the stable renovations. Ayumu declined an invitation to accompany them, but Yukiko wanted to come, bouncing around them until Yannic lifted her onto his shoulders. 

“The young lady is beginning her riding lessons,” he informed Katlego in a dry voice. 

“Oh? Do you want to learn to ride, Yukiko?” Katlego asked, looking up at her.

She nodded vigorously, her two braids swaying. “Mister Yannic says there’s going to be lots and lots of horses. And when we came here, there were two horses pulling the wagon. And one had a white nose and the other, um, the other was all brown and tried to eat Papa’s hat!” 

Katlego snorted a laugh, wishing he’d been there to see it. “What did your Papa do?”

“He told the horse it was being bad. And then he gave it some sugar cubes because he said it must be hungry. But Papa wouldn’t let me eat sugar cubes,” Yukiko concluded sadly.

“Well, you aren’t a horse, are you?” 

Yukiko thought about this for a moment and then shrugged, moving on to another grievance, “Papa says I’m too little to ride a horse.” 

“Maybe it’s good to stick to a Yannic-sized horse for now,” Katlego allowed. 

Yukiko giggled and patted Yannic on the head. 

Growing up, Katlego had spent more time learning the art of the sword and bow with his mother than he had learning about raising and training horses with his father. But he had still spent a good many hours at the stables, learning to ride himself, and sometimes tagging along as his father talked to the grooms and checked on the horses. He could still hear his father’s deep, calm voice as he soothed a fractious mare, could still smell the hay and the saddle leather. 

He’d known the renovations to the stables were quite extensive—Yannic had detailed them very thoroughly in a report sent with one of Ayumu’s letters. But seeing the project underway in person made it more evident. A better drainage system, wider paddocks, sanded yards—even the quarters for the grooms and stable boys were getting refurbished. There were piles of brick and tile and timber all about, and the noise of hammers and shouts from the laborers.

Yannic lifted Yukiko off his shoulders, and Katlego took her hand in his so she didn’t go wandering off into trouble. Yannic led them around, explaining the finer points of the whole endeavor, pausing now and then to bark orders at one of the workers. It was just the way Yannic had been with the auxiliaries—ordering them about with his gruff voice, watching every detail. It was good to see him here, striding through the grass, squinting against the sun. It was good to _be_ here, out in the wind and the bright air, looking out over the hills. For a moment, standing there, Katlego felt a breath of that old excitement, of riding fast over the plains, an arrow knocked in his bow, chasing the snow-white geese as they soared overhead. 

He began humming, and then singing softly, 

_Ten leagues from home, ten leagues away,  
The north wind came to me,  
Ah-lay, ah-lee, ah-lee, ah-lay._

_‘Ride fast before the night grows cold,’  
The wind it said to me,  
Ah-lee, ah-lay, ah-lay, ah-lee._

Yannic paused, his shoulders stiffening, and then he joined his deeper voice to Katlego’s.

_Eight leagues from home, eight leagues away,  
A hawk it came to me,  
Ah-lay, ah-lee, ah-lee, ah-lay._

_‘A house I spied, with hearth so warm,’  
The hawk it said to me,  
Ah-lee, ah-lay, ah-lay, ah-lee._

_Six leagues from home, six leagues away,  
A white hart came to me,  
Ah-lay, ah-lee, ah-lee, ah-lay._

_‘A voice I heard, with tones so sweet,’  
The hart it said to me,  
Ah-lee, ah-lay, ah-lay, ah-lee._

_Four leagues from home, four leagues away,  
A red fox came to me,  
Ah-lay, ah-lee, ah-lee, ah-lay._

_‘Sweet bread, I smelled, and roasting meat,’  
The fox it said to me,  
Ah-lee, ah-lay, ah-lay, ah-lee._

_Two leagues from home, two leagues away,  
The west wind came to me,  
Ah-lay, ah-lee, ah-lee, ah-lay._

_‘Ride fast, for night is growing old,’  
The wind it said to me,  
Ah-lee, ah-lay, ah-lay, ah-lee._

_My journey now behind me,  
To home my thoughts do stray,  
The moonlit road before me,  
And stars that light the way._

Yukiko had been listening with wide eyes, and when they finished, she tugged on Katlego’s pant leg. “What song was that?”

“It’s a song Yannic and I used to sing on the border, when we were fighting in the emperor’s army,” he replied. “It’s a good song to sing when you are riding back to the fort, and the miles stretch long before you.”

“A good song to sing now, too, my lord,” Yannic said. 

“If Mac were here, we could have a proper chorus. I’m sure he still has his fiddle, and I trust I haven’t lost my touch at drumming. Would you like to learn to drum, Yukiko? Then you could play with us.”

Yukiko jumped up and down at the offer. “Yes, yes, yes! I want to!”

Katlego chuckled. “All right, I’ll make a little drum for you.” 

Back at the house, Yukiko rushed to inform Ayumu of this promise immediately. Ayumu had been sitting out on the porch, doing embroidery on what looked like a pair of slippers for Yukiko. But he put them aside as Yukiko clambered into his lap.

“Drumming?” he asked, looking up at Katlego in surprise.

Katlego shrugged, a touch self-conscious. “I picked it up on the border for something to do during the winters. When the snow gets deep, everyone is shut up inside the fort, and drinking and gambling lose their appeal after a while. So I took up the drum, and Mac learned the fiddle. My grandfather used to sing, and my mother too, and I remembered many of their songs.” 

“You’ll have to all sing for me this winter then,” Ayumu said, cuddling Yukiko close. 

Katlego watched them for a moment and then turned to look back out at the hills, lit with the light of early evening, his heart full.

*

Ayumu could not deny that at Katlego’s arrival, he had felt something settle within him. These last few weeks had been exhilarating in many ways. Traveling beyond the capital, seeing so many new things, and then being in a position of responsibility and with a measure of authority as he organized the new household—the occasional moments of anxiety had not outweighed the pleasure he found in these activities. 

But he had missed Katlego, just as he thought he would. And now that he was here things felt…complete. Especially as Katlego had seemed so genuinely impressed with how Ayumu had arranged all the rooms. And in general, Katlego already seemed lighter and more cheerful than in the city. The country air agreed with him, Ayumu could tell. Being apart for a while had also made the change in Ayumu’s situation seem more real. He no longer felt the constant urge to call Katlego ‘master.’ His heart no longer fluttered anxiously whenever he did something without an express order from someone. 

Katlego had, as always, been so kind in listening to Ayumu’s concerns. And although he himself could not be quite as sanguine as Katlego, he resolved to try his best not to worry about how his past might influence others’ opinion of them. 

They managed to get through supper with only a few moments of awkwardness. Ayumu and Yukiko had grown accustomed to eating with Yannic. Although Ayumu knew that a strict adherence to propriety would have Katlego eating alone, with perhaps Ayumu at his side to refill his wine and serve him from the dishes, such an arrangement seemed too stuffy and formal for their new household. And so all four of them sat down at the table together. Katlego said nothing about it and appeared quite at ease. Between him, Yannic, and Ayumu, they also managed to make sure Yukiko ate her vegetables and used her utensils instead of picking things up with her fingers. 

After supper, Ayumu gave Yukiko her bath and then got her settled in bed. She demanded three stories and several songs before her eyes finally drooped shut. Slipping out quietly, Ayumu went to his own room and stripped down to his linen shift, then unpinned and brushed his hair. He had been intending to read a little—there had been many books in the house, and he had been happy to discover Fang Wu’s novel, _The Priest and the Bandit King_. It was about the star-crossed romance of an omega priest at a temple and an alpha who had once been a duke, but who had turned outlaw when his family was ruined by the evil plotting of an imperial seneschal. Books of this ilk had always been passed about in the harem to read clandestinely, as they were supposed to be concentrating on poetry and philosophy. Ayumu had no idea how it had ended up in the library of Katlego’s family, but he was enjoying reading it again with no fear of punishment should he be discovered.

But then he noticed the strip of light shining under the door that led to Katlego’s chambers, and he paused, hesitating. After a moment, he shrugged on his robe, tied the sash, and went and knocked lightly on the door.

Katlego bade him enter, sounding a bit surprised. He was sitting at the table by the lamp, doing something with a piece of red fabric. 

“What do you have there?” Ayumu asked, sliding the door shut behind him. 

“Oh, nothing much.” Katlego looked down at the cloth, running it slowly through his fingers. “I cut it off the coat I used to wear, under my armor. I’m putting these silver beads on it and wrapping it around this hawk feather. I’m going to bring it to… to my mother’s grave. I need to go there tomorrow morning.”

“I see. Would you like me to come with you?”

“Would you?” Katlego looked up again, smiling a little. 

“Of course.” 

“Thank you.” He sighed and slumped in his chair, his smile fading. Grimacing, he reached down to rub at his leg, then toyed with one of the silver beads, rolling it in his fingers. The lamplight cast most of his face in shadow, and it made Katlego look leaner and older.

Ayumu stepped closer, coming to stand next to Katlego’s shoulder. “Shall I brush your hair for you?” he asked quietly.

Katlego craned his neck back to look at him, fixing Ayumu with his dark eyes. “I would like that, but I don’t want you to feel as though it is something you _must_ do. I don’t want to go back to how it used to be between us.”

Reaching out, Ayumu brushed the tips of his fingers against Katlego’s black hair. Was he offering because of a lingering sense of servility? Would it be demeaning, now, to perform a task he had done as a slave?

“I have not stopped wanting to make you happy,” he said at last, slowly. “Or wanting to help you, or to bring you ease and pleasure. But I think it is different now. I no longer have to fear the consequences for myself if I should fail. So I do it out of… love. Love and not fear.” 

Katlego smiled and tilted his head back, letting Ayumu cup his hands around it and rub his thumbs at the nape of Katlego’s neck. “In that case, then, I should enjoy it very much.”

*

“The family cemetery is up in that forest,” Katlego explained as they left the house the next morning, following breakfast. He gestured to the hill that rose to the northwest, thickly covered in pine and birch. 

“Why?” Yukiko asked from where she was walking next to Katlego, her hat already hanging down her back not two minutes from the house. Oleksiy was not due to arrive until later that day for the start of the half-week that he spent with them, and so Ayumu was bringing Yukiko along. 

“It’s quiet and close to the spirits there,” Katlego answered. He had his cane, but it seemed rather a long way for him to walk. 

“I could have Dorji and Babak fetch a litter for you,” Ayumu offered, but Katlego waved away the offer, his expression assuming a stubborn cast. 

“I can make it that far,” he insisted. Ayumu let it be for now, resolved that if Katlego was obviously in pain when it was time for the return trip, he would make him wait there while he fetched help. 

Their way passed through a meadow scattered with purple asters and black-eyed daisies. “Help me pick some flowers, Yukiko,” Ayumu said, bending down next to a thick cluster of asters. “We can take them to Katlego’s mother and father.”

Yukiko happily complied, but when they walked on, holding their bouquets, she asked, “Why do Kat’go’s mother and father live in the forest and not in the house?”

It occurred to him, then, that Yukiko had never been to a cemetery. “Because they’re dead,” he explained. “That’s what a cemetery is—a place where people’s bodies are buried after they die.” 

Yukiko didn’t ask any more questions, but he could tell she was still thinking about it, for she was unusually quiet the rest of the way. 

A faint path, partially outlined with rocks, led up the hillside. It ended at a glade where the pine trees were less dense and more sunlight filtered through. Pine needles littered the ground and covered the small stone monuments that stood there, carved with the names of Katlego’s ancestors. Some were quite old, moss growing in crevices, the edges crumbling away.

Katlego was breathing a touch heavily, but his steps were steady as he went to the two stones that appeared the newest, still smooth, the mottled, grey-and-white stone unblemished, the carven characters sharp. 

“Let’s wait here a moment, little one,” Ayumu said, catching hold of Yukiko’s hand. They stood back, letting Katlego greet his parents privately, although Ayumu almost ran forward to help when Katlego struggled to kneel. 

Katlego laid the gift he had made the night before on his mother’s grave and reached out to touch both stones. He spoke, although the words were too soft for Ayumu to hear. Looking away, Ayumu breathed in the scent of the pines and listened to the birds that were chirping and fluttering in the branches. 

A few minutes passed, and then Katlego beckoned them forward. Ayumu split the bouquet he had gathered in two, laying some flowers before one stone, some before the other. Yukiko copied him.

“My mother is here,” Katlego said, pointing to the stone on the left. “Can you read the letters, Yukiko?”

Slowly, Yukiko spelled them out, tracing her finger over the characters. 

“And my father.” Katlego gestured to the stone on the right. “I wish they were both still alive to meet you, Yukiko.” 

_You raised a wonderful boy_ , Ayumu said silently. _I know I may not be the sort of person you would have hoped for your son, but I ask you to give us your blessings._

Yukiko was frowning, and she turned to look up at Ayumu. “Papa, where are your stones?”

“My stones?”

“For your papa and mother and father and grandpa and grandma,” she explained, counting out all the people on her fingers.

Ayumu’s stomach clenched. He was not prepared to explain to Yukiko why she had no grandparents—spirits forbid that she should ask about her own father. “I do not know,” he said. 

Yukiko came and tugged at his sleeve. “Why? Why, Papa?”

“Because I have not seen them for a long time. So how could I know?”

His voice was harsher than he intended, and Yukiko went quiet, shrinking into herself. Sighing, Ayumu stroked her hair in apology. “I am not angry at you, little one.”

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have a papa as nice as yours,” Katlego said, giving one of Yukiko’s braids a gentle tug.

“So we don’t have any stones, then?” Yukiko asked in a small voice. 

“You can share these stones, if you want,” Katlego offered before Ayumu could reply. “I know my parents and all my family would like it very much if you visited them sometimes. I’ve been neglecting them,” he admitted, looking around the glade. “We should start by sweeping all these pine needles off them.”

“That would be a very nice thing to do,” Ayumu agreed when Yukiko looked up at him, asking silent permission. She immediately ran over to one of the older stones and began picking off the clumps of needles. 

“Help me up?” Katlego asked, holding out a hand. When he was upright, he held onto Ayumu for a moment longer. 

“She’ll understand when she’s older, and you can explain it all,” he said softly. 

Ayumu shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself, feeling cold despite the warm, sunny day. “I don’t want to tell her how my family was too poor to build memorials for our dead. Or how my parents sold me off to pay their debts. I don’t want to tell her the circumstances of her birth. How her real father cared nothing for her. Of why she has no family.”

“But you know,” Katlego began, hesitantly, “We could be one. A family.” His mouth quirked in a half-smile. “It’s not just you I love. She’s very dear to me as well.”

Ayumu stared at him. Of course, he had seen that Katlego was fond of Yukiko. But to claim her as his own—he was suggesting—

“Not immediately,” Katlego said, before Ayumu could make any sort of exclamation or speak past the sudden thundering of his heart. “I know you still need some more time before it would be right for me to ask you such a question. But oh, Ayumu, I can’t imagine that the time will never come. I want to marry you and have you as a partner in my life. I want Yukiko to be our daughter.” 

When he had pondered his relationship with Katlego, Ayumu had thought, at best, that he might achieve the status of a sort-of concubine. Not quite on the level of a marriage partner, but not a mere housekeeper either. But to be married—to be afforded the dignity of a ceremony, a share in Katlego’s property, to have Yukiko’s future secured….

“I—” His voice trembled, his throat tight.

“Not today,” Katlego said again, his smile kind, his eyes full of affection as he looked at Ayumu. 

Ayumu held out his hand, and Katlego took it, threading their fingers together. 

Not today. But one day. One day, and then, after that, always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Katlego, Mac, and Yannic's "band" would sound something like [this](https://youtu.be/WgD57y4Tkng)


	14. Chapter 14

An autumn morning dawns on the Boele estate. Mist hangs in the tall grasses by the lake, and the spiders grumble to themselves as they wait for the sun to dry their dew-spangled webs. A turtle crawls onto the shore, picking his slow way through the mud. The butterflies are already flitting among the straggling summer flowers, their colorful, frantic wings quivering, sensing, perhaps, their numbered days as the cold nights lengthen. 

Wisps of white smoke rise from the house, the fires stoked for cooking and heating water. In the kitchen, Shui pulls the warm bread from the oven. She has been up since three that morning, but she consoles herself with the yeasty bread smell. Yating is stirring the rice porridge and humming a sunrise song, tapping her feet on the tile floor. Shui begins cooking the soft-boiled eggs they will serve with the porridge. For the lord’s breakfast, there will be slices of green-white melon too. One of the last melons harvested from a farm down the valley, with no more to be expected until the following summer. Instead, the market stalls will soon fill with squash and pumpkins. Zhen, who is drawing water from the well, is very fond of toasted pumpkin seeds. 

The youngest member of the household blinks awake and sits up from her nest of blankets. She is holding a stuffed toy dog with a frayed ear. One of its button eyes fell off, too, and was lost who-knows-where. This occasioned many tears on Yukiko’s part. But her papa said that they would give Paws a new eye, and there was no cause for crying. She chose the replacement button herself and stood anxiously at her papa’s side as he sewed it on. She is only a little older than when we first met her, but anyone would remark on the enormous changes in her life in that short time. To go from a slave in the palace kitchens, sleeping on a thin pallet, and never quite getting enough milk to drink to her present situation—why, she has truly been blessed with good fortune. See how full and rosy her cheeks are now, and look at her cunning slippers of green silk that are embroidered with charms to keep away evil spirits. 

Yukiko always wakes Ayumu, jumping on his bed and rolling in the blankets. Like a cat, her papa says, and he tickles her stomach until she shrieks with laughter. She keeps giggling as he bestows five kisses on her forehead—five because his little one deserves one kiss every hour, and this will keep her until noon. They drowse in the bed for a while. Ayumu will never be one to enjoy rising with the sun. For so many years, he slept until midday or after, for of course, it was only with the shades of evening that the silk curtains of the harem were drawn aside, and the lamps lit. The entertaining lasted well into the night and often, he was kept busy until dawn. 

Less of that in recent years. Time, it is true, marches on inexorably for all of us. But especially cruel and hard for one such as Ayumu. He cried, you know, when he found the first gray in his hair. He dyed it, trying to keep it a secret, but you can only hide these things for so long. Sorrowful indeed is the usual fate of pleasure slaves. Should you be so inclined, pay a visit to the well of Tao Kyou, the famous omega courtesan from the Ising Dynasty. Tao built the well as a memorial to all the omegas and women who belonged to harems and brothels and died prematurely, whether of disease or in childbirth, or who perished of starvation when they were cast into the streets after the bloom of their youth faded. It is said the depth of the well increases each year, for it is filled with the tears of these poor souls. The well is but a day’s ride from Blackwing Harbor and is quite prettily situated within a copse of yew trees. 

A wretched fate, then, awaited Ayumu. To express the change in _his_ fortunes, why, it would require half a page of superlatives. You may remember how worried Ayumu was about the tongues of gossips, and it is a regrettable truth that are those who find great delight in speculating about the lives of others and passing judgement, usually of a rather patronizing and moralistic nature. These people are inclined to praise the virtue of the young lord, Katlego. How merciful and benevolent he has been, they say. It is not every lord who would take an older omega—one with a child, no less—and not only set him free but elevate him to a place in the family. 

But if Katlego hears such things, he is quick to contradict them. In his mind, he did nothing but restore what had always been Ayumu’s. His actions came not from benevolence or mercy, but so they might stand together, so that they might know each other in the fullest sense.

Would things have gone differently, had the young lord not been wounded in battle? You did not see him then, when he was a commander and held sword in hand. A strong fighter. But also less conscious of others’ misfortunes, more focused on his duties. Make no mistake—he was always a considerate person. Surely you recall the bad drought three years ago, when it did not rain for months, and the harvests were so terrible. There was little grain to be had, and what the merchants did have they sold at five times its normal price. The foot soldiers had short rations, and when orders came to cut the rations back even further, the commander opened his own purse and paid for more that the soldiers should have enough to eat. And Yannic or Dorji will gladly tell you of the time Katlego rode into a fierce winter storm to find a young lieutenant who had gotten lost. 

But if Katlego had emerged from Dublar unscathed—if Ayumu had been sent to him as a reward then, sent to the border where Commander Boele yet held his position and joked and feasted with his fellow warriors? Perhaps then another captain or general, knowing Katlego’s disinterest in omegas, would have asked for Ayumu, and Katlego would have handed him over with little thought to the matter. 

Idle speculation, this, for Ayumu is curled warm and drowsy in his bed, with Yukiko beside him, and no fear for the morrow. The door slides open, and Oleksiy appears to fetch Yukiko. The young omega has come to live at the estate upon Ayumu’s invitation. He helps look after Yukiko, and in return, Ayumu is teaching him how to play the zither and serve tea and comport himself as elegantly as any omega in the capital. Dubious results have been produced by the latter effort, as evidenced not two hours hence, when Oleksiy will be running pell-mell across the yard, shouting that the mail carrier has arrived. Katlego subscribes to a literary magazine that includes serialized adventure stories, and Oleksiy is a devoted reader.

Ayumu lies abed a bit longer after Oleksiy takes Yukiko, but at last, he rises and slips on a heavier, quilted robe, for the autumn mornings have grown chilly. One day he will wake to find it has snowed. It hardly ever snows in the capital, and Ayumu has never seen snow. He thinks of the blocks of ice stored underneath the palace, heavily guarded, and the luxury of chilled wine on hot summer nights. 

A sliding door connects his room to Katlego’s. Before opening it, Ayumu knocks, although there is hardly any chance that Katlego will not have been awakened by Yukiko’s laughter and chatter. But this is a particular custom of theirs, and each observes it assiduously. 

Katlego is indeed awake, and Guo has just brought in the breakfast tray. Ayumu prefers to serve the coffee and tea himself. Generally, during breakfast, they converse about their plans for the day ahead. A part of Ayumu’s mind admires the breadth of Katlego’s shoulders, while Katlego muses on how adorable Ayumu looks, with his hair mussed and a mark lingering on his cheek from his pillow. When they have finished eating, Ayumu does Katlego’s hair, and then returns to his rooms to dress. 

By now, the morning is well advanced. The sunlight has that peculiar clarity that is unique to autumn. Lighter and sharper than the heavy warmth of summer. Guo and Branko churn the laundry in the tub and talk about the upcoming harvest festival. There are rumors in the village that traveling performers may come, acrobats and jugglers and actors. Surely the lord will let the household attend for a few hours. Meanwhile, out on the covered porch, Oleksiy is trying to get Yukiko to sit still and practice her letters. She is pouting, and her fingers are all covered in ink.

A similar scowl darkens Katlego’s features, for he must attend to some business this morning. Writing letters and doing sums and keeping accounts is so tiresome! Ayumu brings him another cup of coffee and smooths an errant strand of hair behind his ear, then sits by the window and takes out the little fur hat he is sewing for Yukiko. Katlego’s frown rearranges itself into a smile as he basks in these small tokens of affection, in having Ayumu near. 

Although the weather is really getting too cold for swimming, in the afternoon, they go down to the lake. Ever since Oleksiy and Dorji took Yukiko out onto the lake in a boat a few weeks past, she has wanted to return every day. Nothing else will please her, and the one time Ayumu put his foot down and said no, she threw an awful tantrum. Katlego said they should enjoy the fair weather while they had it, and so everyone was back at the lake the next day. Besides, Katlego found that swimming was good exercise for his leg. Although he, Oleksiy, and Yukiko splash happily in the water, he has yet to coax Ayumu in to join them. Ayumu spreads a blanket on the shore and sits there to watch, a wide-brimmed hat on his head. Oleksiy is torn between wanting to emulate Ayumu’s decorum and the fun of swimming and floating in the water. By next summer, Katlego’s leg will have improved, and on a particularly hot and muggy day, he will simply scoop Ayumu up and carry him into the lake, ignoring Ayumu’s half-hearted protests. Set gently free to float in the cool water, Ayumu’s robes will billow around him like clouds. 

The shadows lengthen as the sun slides toward the western hills. In the stables, now housing a few inhabitants, Yannic feeds an apple to his favorite mare and strokes her nose. She snuffles at his clothes and knocks the hat off his head in her search for more treats. At the house, Dorji and Babak lean their axes against the wall and begin stacking the firewood that they have cut. Supper is being prepared in the kitchen, and Shui snacks on a rice ball filled with sesame seeds as she cuts noodles. 

When they return from the lake, Ayumu, Yukiko, and Oleksiy go to the bath. The air fills with steam. Yukiko is sleepy and starts falling asleep in Ayumu’s arms as he scrubs her with soap. He and Oleksiy wash each other’s hair. The scents of his little girl and a fellow omega make Ayumu relaxed, his eyes slipping shut for a few moments. They go back to his room, and Yukiko falls asleep for a bit, while Ayumu shows Oleksiy a new way of braiding and pinning his hair. Oleksiy is still too young to wear his hair up, but it is all right to try a few styles in private. 

Five sit at the supper table now, and Katlego wonders sometimes if more might join it someday. It has been so unexpected, the coalescing of these people around him. How true that old saying has proved, that one can never foresee where one’s life will lead. Past grief and pain are not erased. They live still, inside, and sometimes rise to the surface. But to Katlego that night, they feel quite far away. 

A fat, full moon hangs low in the sky. A spirit moon that stirs the blood. The foxes yip on the hill, and the horses stamp restlessly in the stables. Katlego has the braziers lit on the covered porch, and some wine brought. Yukiko is asleep, and Oleksiy curled in bed reading, but Ayumu brings out his zither, and he plays a sonorous melody that hangs in the air when he lifts his fingers from the strings. They sit together silently then, almost holding their breaths, caught in the moon’s spell. 

Katlego stirs at last, and Ayumu blinks. The lamps are lit inside, and Katlego offers a hand, helping him to stand. They remain close together for a few moments exchanging quiet words, a soft laugh. 

They step inside, shutting out the night behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an exciting day--I can't believe it took me so long to finish this fic! A massive thank you to everyone who stuck with me through it, especially those of you who left comments and kudos. They really kept me motivated to stay with it and finish. I started this fic with the intent that I was going to write whatever the heck I wanted and not worry about plot, pacing, or anything. I threw in poetry and epistolary interludes and whatever you want to call this last chapter. So it really made me happy that so many other people enjoyed what I was having such a great time with as well. I was reading back through earlier chapters the other day and wincing at all the continuity errors--hopefully I'll have the energy to fix at least some of them. 
> 
> Although I don't have a sequel planned, per se, you'll notice that I have created a series for this verse. I have some ideas for future one-shots swirling in my brain, and if I am inspired enough to write them, I'll post them to the series. So do subscribe to it if you're so inclined. No promises, but I do love these characters and would like to explore their world some more.


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